


Homesick at Space Camp

by K0bot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action & Romance, Canon Compliant, Complete, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Homesick Lance (Voltron), I swear, Injured Lance (Voltron), Lance Can Dance, Langst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Okay I was lying it was a lot of blood, Panic Attacks, Political Intrigue, Protective Keith (Voltron), Slow Burn, Space Dad is tired, diplomatic mission, gratuitous ballroom dancing, guess I better be real with these tags now, just a little, klance, klangst, shit does in fact Go Down, still mostly fluff tho, tiny bit o' blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 74,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7416856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K0bot/pseuds/K0bot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance realizes he's been an asshole to Keith, and on a diplomatic mission to a key planet for the Voltron alliance he... overcompensates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Road to Hell is Paved With Your Shocking Incompetence

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for visiting! If you're interested in bothering me on tumblr you can find me at [k0tron](http://k0tron.tumblr.com/), or [k0bot](http://k0bot.tumblr.com/), depending on how Voltron-centric you would like the experience to be, lol.
> 
> Also eternal thanks to my beta [asperaadastra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/asperaadastra/pseuds/asperaadastra), who is solely responsible for my having the guts to post this in the first place.
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you again for reading, I hope you enjoy the story!

Lance wiped sweat out of his eyes again, panting heavily as his whole body shook from over-exertion. He looked around the training area frantically, sniping one long range target then another, two melee fighters coming in to rush Pidge from the flank. Pidge was equally worn out, using all of the strength she had to keep the focus of the many close-combat targets trying to overrun their two-man team. Lance dropped one more rushing melee target with a headshot, but as soon as the gladiator hit the floor, a sniper target blasted Pidge with a shot from the far corner of the room. 

Lance doubled-over, panting with his hands on his knees while Pidge lay in a heap on the floor for what felt like the thousandth time. They were in the middle of a training exercise designed to make use of tactical team comps. Lance was supposed to be covering Pidge while she engaged close range targets, but he couldn't keep up. Every time he dropped a long range target, a new gladiator would come running at her from a different direction, helping the close combat attackers break her defense. And, naturally, every time he managed to defend her from new combatants, one or both of them would end up getting sniped from a distance. Lance just couldn't seem to broaden his scope of the map, and each new failure frayed his nerves more, causing him to try to focus more intently, which only served to narrow his vision even more. The worst part was that he knew what was happening, and he just couldn't un-grit his teeth and fix it. He'd been trying to keep things light, making jokes about how “-that gladiator was smoking hot, how was I supposed to shoot her when she was tossing me those bedroom eyes? I mean, come on, _rude_ ,” but they quickly became grating even for him. 

He didn't even bother commenting as Pidge groaned on the ground this time, feeling completely nonplussed. 

Across the room, Shiro sighed. Lance had watched his composure crack a little more with each new failure, and it hurt more than he wanted to admit. It wasn't like he was _trying_ to fail. He knew if this were a real battle without anyone judging him on a darn point system he'd have no problem loosening up. He was an excellent shot. 

Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose, obviously coming to the end of his rope. “Come on Lance, just _focus_. Keith and Hunk figured this out an hour ago.”

“Seriously man, your situational awareness is crap. Why aren’t you relaxing so you can take in more of the area? Do you _want_ to get shot?” Keith complained loudly, arms gesturing wildly in frustration.

Lance stiffened like he'd just been stabbed, vision narrowing into pinpricks. 

Of course. Of course Keith. 

Shiro realized his mistake too late, and Lance watched his face fall with a grim satisfaction as he felt his own mouth start running on autopilot. “Oh, I'm sorry, I was just kidding that time! Let me just put on my serious pants real quick. Oh quiznak, looks like I'm already wearing them! Too bad then, guess I'll just never be as good as _fucking Keith_.” 

And with an uncharacteristic violence that startled even him, Lance threw down his bayard and stormed off the training deck.

The remaining paladins looked from Keith to Shiro, Pidge hardly bothering to lift her head off the floor before she dropped it back down with a thunk.

“That went well.” she commented flatly. 

Shiro sighed, dropping his arms.

“Keith.”

Keith visibly bristled, already hating where this was heading, and Hunk took a careful step away from his teammate. 

Shiro ignored Keith’s wary-feral-dog look and soldiered on. “ _Keith_. This can't go on. This tension between you two is hurting the team.” He closed his eyes and crossed his arms, a mountain unmoved by the firestorm about to roll over it. 

To absolutely no one's surprise, Keith exploded. “Are you _kidding me_? You want me to go fix this like it's somehow _my fault_ that he started this stupid ‘rivalry’ thing? I didn't ask for this!”

Shiro sighed again. “I don’t care who started it, Keith, but I can't order him to like you. You're the only one who can put this to rest.”

Pidge and Hunk gave each other uncomfortable looks as Keith visibly seethed.

“ _Fine_.” He eventually spat, turning on his heel and marching out after the blue paladin. 

 

Keith had no idea where to find Lance. After checking his room and failing in that first attempt, he was completely at a loss for where else to look. He didn't really expect to find the jerk in any of the common areas after an exit like that, and he just didn't really know him well enough to have an idea of where he might like to hide. 

Not that he hadn't _tried_. The ridiculous and flippant pilot of the blue lion had rubbed him the wrong way from the moment they'd met, but after they'd learned to form Voltron, and especially after Lance had been hurt, he'd found all the venom in their arguments had drained out. At least, on his end they had. If he was being completely honest, Keith actually didn’t mind Lance. When he wasn't being a total ass or trying to flirt like his life depended on it, he was actually pretty funny. And he had a certain warmth about him, an innate ability to connect and communicate with other people - despite how legitimately ridiculous he and his ideas were on the whole - that Keith was more than a little jealous of. But he had his pride, and letting Lance just get away with his perpetual barbs unchallenged was asking a lot. And besides, these days their rivalry was usually kind of… fun.

Usually.

Keith sighed loudly and turned to wander the castle in search of his ‘rival’.

 

Lance stared at the turquoise water of the pool on the leisure deck, eyes unfocused, letting the dancing refracted light sooth him into numbness. He'd found the pool a few weeks ago after he'd been wandering the castle bored out if his mind, and instead of immediately rushing to tell everyone and instigating an emergency pool party, he'd kept it a secret. The Olympic sized rectangle of water reminded him of home, and if he let his focus drift long enough, he could smell the chlorine and hear his brothers and sisters shrieking happily as they splashed in the water. His family had always been water-people, every family outing usually involving a pool or a lake or a beach. If Lance tried very hard, he could still remember the way the sun felt, baking on his back as he and his twin sister sat on their surfboards, splashing and bickering good-naturedly as they waited for the perfect swell.

“ _There_ you are, jesus christ, how did you even find this place?”

“OH MY GOD, YOU FOUND IT, IT MUST NOT HAVE BEEN THAT HARD.” Lance fell back against the cold non-skid flooring dramatically. Of course Keith had to come and find him here. _Of course_. Why would it have been Hunk, or Pidge, when it could be _fucking Keith_? “What are you doing here?” he asked, exhausted. 

Keith walked up to Lance’s head, and dropped down gracefully next to him. Feeling particularly petty, Lance wormed away a couple inches. Keith snorted, unamused. “Shiro told me I had to fix this. So I'm here.” He kept his eyes carefully trained on the far corner of the room, but Lance could see the muscles in his jaw clench. 

“Fix this.” Lance said evenly. Keith glanced down at him.

Lance burst into laughter. 

Keith grit his teeth and knocked him in the side of the head with his foot. “Come on man. Why do you hate me so much? What did I _do_?”

 _Oh, he’s serious_. Lance felt the laughter drain out of him, and he rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling. He thought for a moment, considering. Should he be honest? Was he strong enough to verbalize the fact that he didn’t actually hate Keith at all, that the talented but dumb pilot was actually annoyingly easy to work with, that he could easily see them becoming friends if he could just let go of his own pathetic self-loathing?

Lance looked Keith in the eye, wavered for another minute, and then sighed.

_I guess I owe it to him._

“You didn't do anything. You do everything.” Keith was just staring at him blankly, not even seeming to remotely comprehend the levels to which he was driving him insane. Lance felt his heartbeat speeding up, his face contorting as the ugliness of his feelings came pouring out into the light. “You do everything better than me, Keith! I can't even…” Lance trailed off, swallowing thickly. “I can't even compete.”

Lance watched his rival's brow furrow with a sort of detached appreciation. Keith had really nice eyebrows. Lance realized that musing on his teammate’s aesthetics was probably just his brain doing anything it could to avoid this inevitable conflict, but he couldn't see why paying attention would have a better outcome. Submitting to his subconscious’ desperate distractions, he traced the creases of Keith’s brows with his eyes, like a sculptor assessing his model.

“ _Lance_. That's not, that's not my _fault_. You can't just take out your insecurities on me! And why are you even comparing yourself to me anyway? We're completely different people, of _course_ you're not going to be as good as me if you're trying to play by my rules. We're like, playing completely different games! Competing like this is just _stupid_ , and it’s making you _worse_!”

Lance realized a little too late that Keith had stopped talking, and Keith shoved him, hard. “ _You're not even listening to me_.”

Lance stared at his rival, eyes wide in a sort of dull shock. He'd been too busy cataloguing Keith's features to hear at first, but now he dropped the defense mechanism and his brain jump started as he realized Keith really was trying to ‘fix’ this.

“I'm listening.” Lance coughed uncomfortably. Keith glared, and Lance resisted the urge to zone out again. Conflict wasn’t really his strong suit. Well, actually, conflict _resolution_ wasn’t really his strong suit. Keith being right didn’t help his ego any either. “I guess you're right, but you don't exactly act like you have any faith in me, ever.” He said somewhat petulantly.

Keith just stared at him with his mouth gaping like a fish. “Lance, what reason do I have to be _supportive_ of you when you’re always so… mean?!” 

Lance’s first reaction was instinctive. He wanted to tease Keith for calling him a big meanie like he would one of his siblings. The words were almost out of his mouth before he really saw the look in Keith’s eyes.

It was more than a little broken.

“...Keith?” He prodded delicately, sitting up. Keith turned to look at him, expression raw, as if he’d suddenly realized exactly how deep his own feelings went.

“ _Lance_ -” He started, voice unexpectedly thick. He paused to collect himself, breathing deeply. “ _Lance_. I’m an _orphan_. This is… this is the closest thing I’ve ever _had_ to a family, and you, you’re…” he took another deep breath, and dragged his gaze back to lock with Lance’s. Lance felt that laser vision penetrate his soul. “You’re keeping me on the outside of it.” Keith’s eyes were red now, shining in the reflected light of the pool.

Lance felt his heart shatter, and he was speechless.

He was…

He was the worst.

Lance could feel words trying to escape his throat, but only a strangled noise managed to make it out. Keith’s eyes were still locked with his, his gaze melting Lance’s insides as if he were pouring lava down his throat. 

Lance had been sitting out here, comforting himself with memories of all the people who loved him while he practically tortured his teammate, all because he couldn’t deal with his own feelings of inadequacy. Because he didn’t think. Because he was an idiot.

Because he was inadequate.

Lance didn’t realize he was crying until he noticed Keith’s weirdly perfect brows had twisted into a new and confused shape.

“Why are you _crying_?!” Keith demanded, suddenly totally out of his depth.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, I just, I’m _sorry_ , I -” Lance babbled, flushed and embarrassed. He sat up more to hide his face in his knees, frantically trying to scrub his face clean of tears while simultaneously sobbing harder and harder. Keith began to look like he might vomit. Lance couldn’t handle it.

He was the worst.

How he ended up sobbing uncontrollably on Keith’s shoulder while the red pilot’s soul seemed to be trying to leave his body he wasn’t sure. What he did know was that Keith’s shoulder was solid and warm, and that simply saying ‘sorry’ a thousand times and sobbing wasn’t going to be enough to fix this. Lance pulled back, suddenly full of determination, and got himself together. 

There was only one way to fix this.

Lance was gonna be the best fucking friend Keith had ever had.

Keith was still staring at him warily, hands held up uncertainly, body rigid. Lance forced himself to sit upright, wiping his nose and trying to look serious.

“Keith.”

The red paladin visibly jumped at the sound of his name.

“Keith,” Lance continued, determined. “There’s nothing I can say that will erase how _totally cheesing awful_ I’ve been to you since this whole mess started, but I’m sorry. I’m really, really, really sorry. And I’m gonna make it up to you.”

Keith was still looking at him like he’d grown a second head, but he wasn’t scowling anymore. Lance took that as a good sign. He stuck out his hand rigidly, “Can we…” he shook his head, steeling himself again, and rephrased. “I’d like to be friends. For real. No more outside,” he said seriously.

The look of disbelief on Keith’s face lasted a few more ticks, but eventually he seemed to come to the conclusion that Lance was honestly and truly done crying, and also that he meant it. Face relaxing into a very relieved if small smile, he stuck his hand out, grasping Lance’s.

“Okay. Friends.”


	2. We Do What Friends Do (More Than You Anticipated and Less Than You'd Expect)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get this party started. Don't forget to form Voltron!
> 
> Eternal thanks to my beta [asperaadastra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/asperaadastra/pseuds/asperaadastra), without whom this fic would surely perish. XD

The next morning found Lance in a hastily organized town hall with Pidge and Hunk in the kitchen. Pidge sat on the counter, fiddling with some sort of cooking apparatus she was trying to make for Hunk, while he leisurely put together something that vaguely resembled a breakfast food for the team. The two of them listened to Lance’s frantic download of the conversation he’d had with Keith last night, first with the half-attentiveness of people who think they know where a story is heading, then with actual surprise as the full revelation of Lance’s jerkitude and subsequent plan to super-friend his former rival revealed itself.

“Wow, I’m actually kind of impressed, Lance. I don’t think anyone really thought you were capable of personal reflection,” Pidge said with a genuine awe.

“Are you kidding me, I’m a master of personal reflection!” Lance fumed, flushing at the insult.

“Ha ha, yeah, we should call you Narcissus with how good you are at reflecting on yourself.” Hunk chuckled, mostly to himself. The joke sailed over Lance’s head, and with what he was fairly certain was some well deserved side-eye, he wisely chose to ignore it.

“Look, make fun of me all you guys want, but I’m gonna be the best cheesin’ friend that mullety loser’s ever HAD!” he shouted defensively, crossing his arms. 

Pidge grinned at him like she was in on yet another joke Lance wasn’t getting. “Oh yeah? And how do you plan on doing that, exactly?” 

“I-!” Lance started confidently, only to immediately stall as he realized he had _literally no idea_. What _was_ he supposed to do now? With Hunk and Pidge he mostly did whatever he wanted to, and dragged them along regardless of how into his ideas they seemed. While that worked for them, he had the feeling that wasn’t actually what ‘The Best Friend Keith Ever Had’ would do. Lance fell back against the counter dramatically and yelled, “Oh my god, what DO I do?”

Hunk and Pidge both broke out into laughter at Lance’s stricken expression. Lance pouted mightily, but he couldn’t really find it in himself to get truly worked up over their teasing. They’d completely let him off the hook for being such an asshole to their teammate, and Lance didn’t really feel like making them regret it. Sprawling across the futuristic metal counter in a Lance-shaped puddle, he tried to really put his mind to what his next move was.

“What if I made him breakfast?” he queried sullenly. “Or maybe I can find a TV or something on the leisure deck and we can watch a movie.”

Pidge and Hunk smirked at each other.

“Yeah Lance, that sounds like a great idea, except maybe you can clear this up for me, are you trying to _friend_ Keith or _date_ him?”

Lance fell off the counter, flailing and sputtering spectacularly. Hunk burst into laughter, and Lance scrambled to stand up and shove his face right up in Hunk’s business.

“I am NOT-” Lance began, turning to Pidge and pointing aggressively between her and Hunk, “trying to _romance Keith_. I am very specifically trying to BROMANCE him, and I will NOT be deterred by your inflamatory remarks!” He finished emphatically. He huffed greatly, and turned towards the cabinets, now fiercely determined that breakfast _was_ the way to go.

Hunk wiped his eyes, beginning to tear up he was laughing so hard. “Dude, there’s like, nothing in the cabinets. We literally have goo, and like, one tuber left from Arus, which is probably not the safest thing to eat at this point. Also can you even cook? I’ve literally never seen you try.”

Pidge’s grin widened as she barked a laugh. “Lance, cooking! Oh man, that’s something I would pay to see.”

Lance turned, hands on his hips, face scandalized. “I’m the oldest of _five_ , you seriously think I don’t know how to cook?! I mean seriously, if I hadn’t figured out how to feed those little brats it would have been anarchy! Not to mention Luci would have _definitely_ burned the house down.” Lance traversed the kitchen area with purpose as he ranted, grabbing bowls from their cabinet and tromping over to the goo hoses. “I mean, you should have seen her try to make spaghetti. She literally can’t even boil water.” Lance picked up the goo hose and aimed it at one of the bowls, pulling the spray trigger forcefully. “We had to throw out the pot! It got all black, and warped-”

“Wait Lance, the goo hose is delicate, you can’t-” Hunk tried to interject, but it was far too late. The goo hose, being the touchy creature she was, whipped out of Lance’s hand like a snake, spraying in practically every direction _besides_ toward his intended receptacles. The hose nozzle flew into the air with the force of it’s goo-expulsion, ceased spewing, and fell--solid metal spout connecting solidly with the top of Lance’s skull.

“WHAT THE QUIZNAK, LIKE, MAYBE A LITTLE WARNING NEXT TIME HUNK?!” Lance cradled his abused skull, curled into a tight ball of pain and _so much food-goo oh man it was everywhere_. He turned to where Hunk stood behind him, angrily wiping goo from his face. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS THING--”

Lance’s tirade came to an abrupt finish when he realized with all the grace of someone who had just been beat-up by a food dispenser that the occupants of the kitchen had increased by one. Keith had shown up, presumably right in the middle of his technical issues, and was now laughing like he’d never seen anything funnier in his _life_.

“Oh, wow, man…” Keith wheezed, wiping a tear from his sparkling eye and wrapping an arm around his torso, presumably sore from laughing so hard. “Did you fail infancy? You know you’re not supposed to _wear_ food, right?” He asked, walking up and extending a hand down as if to help Lance up.

“Yeah yeah, says the only guy in the room who’s ever _actually_ flunked out of anything!”

“And precisely how high can you go with your multiplication tables?”

“ _Rude_.”

Lance stared at the hand Keith was still offering, looked back up at his sparkling eyeballs, and felt his brain short-circuit. “I WAS TRYING TO MAKE US BREAKFAST,” he practically shouted, standing up quickly without help and trying to dispel the blush he felt taking over his entire face with sheer will-power. _Why was he blushing anyway?!_ It wasn’t even like this was the most embarrassing thing Keith had ever seen him do. 

He made the horrible mistake of looking back at his new friend, and the look of surprise and quiet appreciation he found there made his heart jump right into his throat. He literally choked on it, and Keith quickly shifted closer, putting a hand on Lance’s back as if that would actually help Lance stop choking.

“Hey woah are you ok?” he asked, and Lance was struck again by those weirdly perfect brows as they furrowed into a genuinely concerned look.

“FINE, I’M FINE,” he cried.

He was so not fine.

Pidge handed him a glass of water, still with that look of being in on a joke Lance wasn’t getting. He forgave her since the excuse to do something other than focus on whatever was happening right here was literally saving his life. 

Naturally, he drank the water too quickly, and started choking on that as well.

Keith added a hand on Lance’s upper arm, now looking rather worried. “DUDE, can you stop dying for like, ten seconds?”

Lance managed to cough up the water and inhaled like he’d been drowning. “APPARENTLY NOT.” 

Keith let out a relieved breath now that Lance was once again capable of speech, and resumed laughing. Lance turned on Hunk, desperate to do anything but think about how nice Keith’s laugh sounded, which would just lead to him thinking about how he could have been making him laugh this whole time. Keith probably actually thought he was funny, jesus why was he such a _dick_ , wait--no, Hunk.

“BRO. Can you please warn a guy next time?! So rude.” Lance whined, hoping Hunk would pick up on his telepathic plea for rescue.

Hunk just laughed at him some more. “I tried to warn you man. We never really fixed it all the way after the whole ship-trying-to-kill-us thing. Admittedly Pidge and I have been focusing more on making actual human cooking tools so we can eat, you know, people food.”

“What kind of people food?” Keith asked, perking up. 

Hunk lit up at the question. “I’m glad you asked, my man! Hopefully with this thing,” He gestured to the contraption Pidge had been tinkering with earlier, “we might actually be able to mill some grains on the next planet that has any sort of grain-like plants on it, and we can make some flour!” Hunk continued to go on about what kinds of things they could make if they had any kind of useable flour, which led to talking about pizza, which was apparently exactly what Keith had been hoping for.

Lance watched the interaction silently as Keith and Hunk talked excitedly about what toppings they hoped to find for their hypothetical future pizza, Pidge chiming in about how she was hoping to program the food goo machine into something closer to a replicator, and if she could find some certain base ingredients they could have _cheese_. The three of them talked easily, and something in Lance’s chest twisted.

He _had_ been keeping Keith out.

“Lance, what’re your favorite toppings?” Keith asked, turning to him. He was smiling easily, and Lance quickly shook off whatever expression he might have been wearing. He cocked an eyebrow and shot them a sideways grin. 

“Everyone knows a pizza isn’t a pizza unless it’s got anchovies on it.”

Pidge stuck out her tongue, pretending to vomit, and Keith and Hunk laughed. “Oh man, you and your weird love of anchovies,” Hunk said, immediately launching into a story about how one time at the Garrison Lance had convinced the lunch ladies to put anchovies on his ice cream. Lance naturally rebutted loudly that it had been “for science, he wasn't that weird,” and as the other three laughed because, “yeah, sure, we believe you 100%,” Lance relaxed in the knowing that he was forgiven.

 

The moment of peace didn't last.

All four pilots straightened as the castle's alarm system engaged.

“ ** _Paladins, suit up and report to the bridge!_** ”

 

\--------------------

Lance was the last one to get to the bridge after they all hastily broke to change into their armor. Allura was standing at the center console, bringing up a viewscreen showing a planet surrounded by a small Galra fleet.

“Paladins.” The four younger pilots back’s straightened unconsciously. “This is planet Tuarik, and our reconnaissance says they’ve had a distress signal broadcasting for the past three days. I’m not sure what the situation on the ground is, but it is our duty as defenders of the galaxy to assist them. Our plan is to have you five descend in your lions on the far side of the planet, outside of the Galra fleet’s visual range. Get down there and assess the damage.” Allura said with comforting professionalism. She and Shiro locked eyes and nodded to each other. Shiro turned to face them more fully, arms crossed. There was something about him giving orders that helped put everyone at ease, and Lance was grateful for it. It was easy to forget that they were just a bunch of kind of shitty cadets when Shiro was around, and all too easy to remember when he wasn’t.

“When we’re on the ground, do your best to be stealthy. Pidge, save your cloaking for when we get close, we might need it.” He directed, and Pidge nodded firmly.

“Good luck paladins, and be careful. For all we know this is a trap. I expect you each to trust your gut and keep each other safe.” Allura smiled encouragingly at them. A thought occurred to Lance and he almost laughed out loud, but managed to keep it together at the last minute. Allura and Shiro were Space Mom and Dad. _Oh my god, I have to tell Hunk_. Lance just managed to stand up straight again as Shiro called for them to roll out.

All five pilots nodded firmly, and they broke to head for their lions.

“Do you think this could be like Balmera? The citizens enslaved?” Hunk asked over the video feed as they descended toward the planet.

“I don’t think so, if they were already enslaved it would be odd for them to have a distress beacon for us to pick up, wouldn’t it?” Pidge responded thoughtfully, tilting her head.

“Whatever it is, we’ll stop it.” Keith said firmly.

Lance felt himself relax a little at the certainty in his voice, though he’d never admit out loud that Keith’s competence was reassuring. He’d sooner spontaneously combust. “Yeah, if they made it this far hopefully a helpful kick to the pants from us’ll be more than enough to make the Galra run home to their furry purple alien moms!” he said enthusiastically. Keith grinned back sharply, and Lance felt his stomach do a tiny flip. “And hey, maybe this time we’ll actually get that parade! Ooh, or better yet, hot alien babes that wanna th-”

“No.” Shiro said flatly. Pidge and Hunk snickered.

“But Daaaaad~” Lance sing-songed, which made Shiro sputter and the rest of the pilots crack up.

“Oh my god Shiro is totally Dad.” Pidge cackled.

“All right, all of you knock it off or _I will turn this giant robot conglomeration around_.” Shiro snapped, which just made everyone laugh harder.

They flew low over land until they started to see signs of conflict. The Galra had surrounded what appeared to be a castle town, old-school siege style. Of course, who knew if you could call a siege in space ‘old-school’.

“Okay, well, we’ve got a castle fenced in and a small fleet surrounding the planet up in orbit. Pidge, you use your cloaking on the green lion and see if you can get inside and talk to whoever is in charge, find out what we can do safely. The rest of us will try to weaken defenses around the fringes _without_ raising the alarm. Pidge, alert us the moment you have any information.” Shiro directed.

“Roger!” Pidge responded, immediately cloaking and heading for the castle.

“Alright, first person to bust twenty sentry robots without getting caught wins!” Lance yelled gleefully, excited to get to business.

“You’re on.” Keith responded, predictably. 

“Just don’t do anything to endanger Pidge until she’s reported back!” Shiro commanded, causing the rest of the pilots to sit up a little straighter.

“Sir yes sir!” Lance barked back, only half-joking. The four paladins broke ranks to cover more area on the siege line, taking out scouts and unsuspecting troops where they could. 

Lance got to 17 before Keith called out on the com. “And... that’s 20!”

“WHAT no, I was at 17 there is NO WAY-”

“Ya snooze ya lose!” Keith crowed _annoyingly_. Lance huffed loudly and proceeded to sneak up on and then fry four more sentries. 

“Well, now I’m at 21 so _take that_.”

“Oh are we still counting? Because I’m at 27.”

“OH COME ON.”

“ _Guys, I’ve made contact_.” Everyone immediately shut up as Pidge reported in. “Apparently the kingdom here has a plethora of something that looks and functions like diamond, which the local Galra magistrate-type wants access to so he can sell it, because what’s any space economy without some nice, classic extortion? The location is apparently not of much use to Zarkon, so if we erase this mess chances are it’ll stay that way. The only hitch here is that the magistrate has the kingdom’s princess hostage on the big frigate up in orbit.”

“Alright. Pidge, you stay down here with me and we’ll take out this siege. Lance, Hunk--you two go be distracting to that frigate, and Keith, you sneak in and grab that princess.” Shiro directed.

“Coran and I will lay down covering fire if necessary.” Allura added seriously, chiming in from the castle.

“How come Hunk and I always have to be distractions, I’m starting to feel a little expendable here!” Lance whined loudly.

“If anything happened to you we’d have no one left to annoy the Galra to death, don’t worry Lance, you’re not that expendable.” Keith snarked back.

“Oh yeah!? Well, if we lost YOU we’d-”

“Enough!” Shiro snapped, effectively shutting Lance up. “Alright team, break!”

Grumbling under his breath, Lance followed Hunk back up into orbit, lining themselves directly in front of the frigate’s view screens to distract them from the red lion sneaking in from below.

“Should we uh… hail them? Or something?” Hunk asked, looking unsure.

Lance’s eyes sparkled.

“Oh, definitely.” His hands flitted over his dashboard for a moment, and the hailing video feed came up. “Shiro wants us to be annoying? I’ll give them annoying!” He leaned forward in his seat as the hailing frequency went live. “Pilots of Voltron to whoever’s flying that ship. We see what you’re doing, and we’re gonna have to ask you to stop.” 

Hunk chuckled over the con, catching on quickly. “Yeah, this is like, a class A no-no. We’re gonna need you to pack up your siege and head on out of here for the rest of forever.”

The video feed crackled and a Galra commander appeared. “ _What the hell is this, who are you? Whoever you are, mind your own business or be annihilated_.” The commander looked… shifty, was the word. His uniform didn’t look as crisp or high tech as the other commanders they’d encountered from Zarkon’s army, and his purplish fur had a greasy sheen to it.

“Uh, excuse me, did you not just hear me say we’re the pilots of Voltron? To be more specific, I’m Lance, pilot of the blue--and best--lion, and this is Hunk.” Lance responded cheekily.

“And yeah, we’re gonna have to hold fast on that ‘pack up your things and leave’ order. Pr-e-tty sure you don’t wanna mess with us.”

The Galra commander just stared at both of them like they’d grown second heads. Lance and Hunk glanced at each other via personal video feed, and shrugged.

The private com-channel crackled. “I’m inside, trying to figure out where they’re keeping the princess” Keith reported, sounding a little frustrated. 

Lance kept being distracting. “Look buddy, if you don’t get your guys outta here in like, ten seconds, you aren’t gonna have any guys left to get, capiche?” He leaned forward, trying to look intimidating. 

The Galra commander appeared to have had enough. The huge laser cannon mounted at the bow of his ship started powering up, and Lance and Hunk both squeaked.

“Lance, Hunk! Move!” Allura shouted, video popping up to show her frantic expression. The two pilots dodged the blast from the frigate just as a huge beam from the Castle of Lions took out the frigate’s cannon.

“What did you do, the guards are all on high alert now!” Keith cursed.

“Wh- I didn’t do anything!” Lance pouted, looking to Hunk for backup. Hunk just shrugged, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Whatever, I found the princess. Keep distracting them so they shoot you and not us.” Keith’s channel cut out.

“Hey wait I don’t wanna get shot-” Hunk started to complain as a formation of fighter ships descended on them from their flank, shooting wildly. Hunk glared at Lance as if this were all his fault, and Lance threw him back his best scandalized look. Between the two of them however, the small group of fighters didn’t last more than a minute or two.

Keith popped up on the video feed. He and a beautiful alien lady were squished into the red lion’s small cockpit. She was looking at him like he was the greatest thing that had ever happened, and Keith just looked generally uncomfortable. Lance felt a low grumble in his chest that he assumed was jealousy, because that princess was hot and _of course that mullet would be a chick magnet._

“I got the princess, coast is clear to blow stuff up.” Keith reported, sounding a little worn out.

The black and green lions joined them right on cue. “Good work Keith, let’s form Voltron and put this to rest.” Shiro said, drawing the other pilots into ranks. Lance bristled a little.

Forming Voltron was the weirdest thing. It was seeing into each other’s minds, but each mind was solely focused on being Voltron, so there wasn’t much to see. It let Lance know when Keith planned to go in with a crazy powerful right-hook, but not what he’d eaten for breakfast that morning. _Which was actually nothing_ , Lance thought absently. Hunk formed the heavy cannon and tore into the small fighter ships swarming them. Then Keith formed the sword, and Lance felt his stomach sour a little more. Keith was just so _unfair_. Always on the offensive, always ready with the right moves, never unsure--even to a fault.

 _No,_ he thought, shaking his head as Keith sliced right through the frigate, _you can’t blame him for your own incompetence anymore. You’re gonna be the best friend he’s ever had, and friends don’t hate it when their friends are good at things._

It was almost pathetic how easy to wreck the entire fleet was, especially with Allura and Coran laying down heavy fire from the Castle of Lions. In a matter of moments, Voltron had landed back on the planet’s surface, joined by Coran and Allura. The princess was returned to her family, and a great feast was called. Ever the diplomat, Allura graciously accepted the Tuarikians’ invitation.

The palace was impressive. It had a very organic geometric design to it that made Lance feel at home after so long in the clinical--if aesthetically pleasing--gray metal of the Castle of Lions. Everything here seemed to be made out of a sort of advanced adobe technique, and the feeling of good wholesome _dirt_ was wonderful. Most of the windows were stained glass, and the light filtered through softly rose-colored. The people themselves were beautiful as well, landing definitively in the humanoid category. They had long earlobes and their skin was tinted too pink to be human, with wild eye colors that had Lance staring more often than not. The sun started going down as the pilots were directed through the gilded hallways to the huge ballroom their celebratory banquet was being held in, and the golden light glittered off the metallic detailing in the architecture.

The pilots, Allura and Coran were introduced at the entrance, and lined up at the top of the huge ornate staircase that led down to the ballroom floor, where everyone could see them. Lance was fully entranced with the beauty of his surroundings, not even noticing the formal situation until the king came up to speak. 

“We have been rescued this day by these mighty warriors of Voltron! The have come from across the universe to fight the Galra and bring peace to all lands. Our gratitude for their sacrifice is beyond measure. To Voltron!” He said, raising his hands dramatically. The crowd mimicked him and chorused a response that didn’t make it through translation. The sentiment was pleasant, making Lance feel proud, if a little intimidated. “Tonight we feast in honor of each of you, but we owe special thanks to this one, Keith of the Red Lion. This Keith has shown incredible bravery, fearlessly boarding an enemy ship _alone_ to rescue Our princess.” 

Lance elbowed Keith in the side, and snorted at the look of absolute boredom the red pilot wore. 

_All in a day’s work, eh?_

The king turned to Keith and put a large, formidable hand on his shoulder. “As an expression of gratitude from our kingdom for rescuing our princess, you shall take her hand in marriage, as is our tradition! With your sacred union, our families and strengths shall be linked forever.” The king said warmly, as if he were bestowing a great boon. _Which it was_ , thought Lance, as the beautiful princess blushed and curtsied to Keith. 

Keith looked like he might vomit. 

Suddenly as far from the cool confidence he’d displayed through the previous praise as he could get, he looked around frantically, and his eyes locked with Lance’s. The look in them read absolute panic, and the message was clear: _save me_. Lance’s brain kick-started as if someone had just pulled the cord on a pull-start engine. Keith was a friend. Keith was in trouble. _Lance had to save him_. The need to fulfill his new Best Friend duties took priority over actually thinking out a proper _how_ , which wasn’t really anything new for the Blue Pilot. 

Launching into action, he flailed his arms, and the words poured out of his mouth of their own volition. “He can’t do that!” 

The king and the princess both turned to Lance with stricken expressions, and a hush fell over the hall, it’s occupants in shock. 

“And why, pray tell, might that be?” He demanded, clearly offended but still trying to sound diplomatic. “The gift of family is the highest honor. Is he a god, so great as to be stronger alone than with the strength of family and alliance behind him?” 

Lance blanched. His entire team was looking at him as if they would very much like to throw him into orbit without his helmet. 

“Uh… be...cause…” He made eye contact with Keith again, who still looked panicked, but now also confused and maybe a little bit hopeful. He felt words falling out of his mouth again and wished he could stop the deluge, but he was helpless against it. “Because he’s already married!” 

Shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd, and Lance’s heartbeat doubled its pace. He tried to think of someone, anyone Keith could be married to, but he couldn’t do that to Pidge and he probably wouldn’t live through doing it to Allura. Keith’s mouth was flapping open and closed in his peripherals, but he couldn’t look at his new best buddy as the final waterfall of words he didn’t mean to say escaped his useless jaw. 

“He can’t marry the princess because he’s already married to me!” He said, maybe even sounding a little confident if you didn’t know him, if you weren’t close enough to hear the squeak as his voice cracked on the final word. He kept his face serious, hoping the king would fail to note the sweat dripping down his temple. 

Silence rang out through the banquet hall as the attendees and the rest of team Voltron processed Lance’s outburst. Lance just kept pointedly not staring at Keith, who was turning redder by the second. Lance felt his own face burning with what must be a righteous blush, and he clenched his jaw. He could feel the stares from the rest of his team, initially surprised, and then each of them sighing with the inevitability of it all. He thought he heard Hunk whisper “ _This is why we can’t have nice things._ ” 

The king and princess both shot disbelieving looks between the two pilots. “Is this true?” He asked, with a slightly dangerous edge. “I will not be lied to in my own court!” 

Allura was the one to rescue them. Stepping forward, she placed a delicate hand on Lance’s shoulder, and then Keith’s. “Yes. I’m so sorry King Higar, Keith and Lance were recently wed, and Keith can take no other partners according to our laws.” She said solemnly. King Higar looked appeased if unhappy, but seeing his daughter’s even more distraught face, he put on a comforting smile. 

“Well, this we cannot help. We hope you will stay with us for the week of the banquet, even if our hospitality is not thanks enough.” He said magnanimously. 

The tension popped like a bubble, and everyone sighed, relieved. Pidge and Hunk shot Lance sly grins and wiggled their eyebrows, and he felt his temperature rise ten more degrees. 

“We would be honored.” Allura accepted gracefully. 

“By the ancestors, let us feast!” 

The team was lead down the steps to a table, and the banquet began. The rest of the team seemed to be having a great time, relaxing and enjoying themselves after such an undisputed victory. Keith and Lance however stared straight ahead, not eating or making eye contact with anyone. Allura and Shiro shot them several concerned looks, but they were unable to speak to either of the boys before the dancing began. As soon as the music started up and guests began moving about the hall, Keith grabbed Lance by the arm and nearly dragged him out the closest door he could reach, into a blessedly empty hallway. 

The two boys stood silent. Lance was visibly sweating, while Keith hadn’t taken his eyes off of him. Keith inhaled shakily, and then shouted, “WHAT ON EARTH WERE YOU THINKING?” He dragged his hands down his face, clearly having lost it. 

Lance gulped. “I… You… _You looked like you needed help!?_ ” He defended, sitting on the floor and putting his head in his hands. 

“So you said we were _married?!_ You realize now that we’re going to have to actually _act married_. For a WEEK. If the king thinks we’ve lied to him he’ll be insulted, and he won’t join the Voltron alliance, and why is diplomacy so _hard?!_ ” 

Lance stared, jaw hanging open. Keith noticed, and scoffed. 

“ _Yeah_ , Lance. _Act married_. You could barely act like a friend until last night! This is a disaster.” Keith’s face grew dark, and he sat down on the floor next to Lance, curled up and sullen. He stared at some unspecified point in the distance, and Lance felt something catch fire in his chest. 

Lance’s eyes narrowed and he punched Keith in the arm. “ _Hey._ ” He said, fully offended. Keith rubbed his arm, looking scandalized. 

“Dude, what the hell-” Keith started, frowning intensely. 

“SHH.” Lance cut him off, “Look. I didn’t say that because I thought it would be _funny_. I said it because I’m trying to be a _good friend_ , and you looked like you needed help. I’m not just gonna ruin it because I’m afraid to hold your hand or something!” 

Keith looked suspicious, still pouting into his knees. “Why would you be afraid to hold my hand?” 

Lance’s face immediately lit on fire, and he yelled, “I JUST SAID I’M NOT.” 

Keith seemed to consider this for a moment, and then sighed, shoulders slumping. “All right. If you think you can do this, then fine. We pretend to be married.” 

Lance relaxed, and then tensed right back up as Keith’s words processed. “What do you mean if _I_ think I can do this? You think you’re just gonna be perfect at pretend-married or something?” 

Keith looked up, surprised. “I mean, it’s not like it’s hard?” 

Lance leaned forward, getting right into Keith’s face, surprising him more. “What do you mean it's not hard? I'm a very high maintenance husband! And anyway, I'm going to be a WAY better fake husband than you.” 

Keith quirked an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” he asked, voice rising competitively. 

“YEAH.” Lance’s nostril flared, eyes burning with the challenge. 

“Prove it.” 

Lance froze. The look in Keith's eyes was unreadable, and his brain began emergency shutdown procedures. 

He was rescued by Pidge, bursting through the door. 

“Are you two done with your lover’s spat? They’re making us dance, and you dipshits need to be there.” she said, smirking righteously. 

“WE ARE NOT-” Lance started, high pitched with panic. Keith elbowed him in the ribs. 

Lance turned sharply and they locked eyes in a tense stare down. Realizing the trap he’d set for himself, he huffed, throwing his arms up. 

“ _Fine._ Let’s go _dance_ , Darling.” He bowed extravagantly, holding a hand out to Keith. 

Keith’s face exploded in red, and Lance smirked. 

_Worth it._


	3. How Does This Song Go, I Don't Know The Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get some rips in the chat for Keith.
> 
> Continuing eternal thanks to [asperaadastra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/asperaadastra/pseuds/asperaadastra) for being a wonderful beta. Also thanks so much for the comments and kudos guys, they really make my day!
> 
> Also OH MAN GUYS my buddy [Magicstarchick](https://twitter.com/Magicstarchick) made fanart for this chapter! [Check it out!](https://twitter.com/Magicstarchick/status/754851626997850116)

Keith was not sure what exactly he’d done in his life to deserve this.

The sweet smell of night-blooming flowers wafted through from the garden courtyard that the far side of the great ballroom opened up to. The Tuarikians glittered in their colorful gilded costumes, looking ethereal in the warm light of the many intricately connecting chandeliers overhead. Lance had Keith's arm tucked into his own like some kind of gentleman, while the Tuarikians demonstrated a series of complicated dance moves to the Voltron crew. 

They might as well have been speaking another language to Keith. He wasn’t surprised that Coran, Allura, and Shiro looked fully confident while learning the steps, but he was reassured seeing that Pidge and Hunk looked terrified. What he wasn’t reassured by in the slightest was the undaunted confidence coming off _Lance_.

This was absolutely going to be a disaster.

“Did you get all that?” Lance asked, far too chipper, as the Tuarikians finished their instruction and began to take their places on the dance floor.

“Of course not! How is anyone supposed to remember-” Keith’s burgeoning tirade cut short at the look of excitement on Lance’s face, like he’d just said _exactly_ what Lance had hoped he would say. _Shit._

“Man it’s lucky you’re so short, this might’ve been awkward if you were taller than me.” Lance said, almost sounding serious, but incapable of erasing the teasing note from his voice entirely. The easy smirk he was wearing made Keith want to smack it off his face.

“You are _two and a half inches_ taller than me!” Keith protested. Two and a half inches wasn’t even a lot. Lance was ridiculous.

“Ooh, someone’s counting.” Lance’s eyes sparkled.

Keith’s heart had the audacity to skip a beat. He chalked it up to the actual terror he was feeling about dancing in front of this crowd--failing in front of an audience wasn't something he was particularly used to--but it would be _fine_. He just had to make it through one dance with this idiot for diplomacy’s sake. His sledgehammering pulse had everything to do with how much he didn't want to be here, and absolutely _nothing_ to do with anybody’s eyes _sparkling._

Shit.

Well before Keith could recover or retort, Lance grabbed his hands and twirled him unwittingly into the proper starting position for the dance. The music started up, an upbeat pretty melody that perfectly matched the other-worldly summer night, and Keith tried not to hyperventilate.

Lance had absolutely no right to look this comfortable.

Keith felt his hand sweating against Lance's comparatively cool palm. The part of his waist where Lance's other hand rested might as well have been on fire, and he lamented the short length of his jacket. 

Lance chuckled, obviously taking immense pleasure in Keith’s discomfort. “Alright _darling_ , just follow me.”

Keith gulped.

 _This was absolutely going to be a disaster_.

Lance moved forward, and Keith stumbled back. Lance kept a firm hold of him so he couldn’t actually lose his balance; Keith scrambled to find any sort of pattern to what was happening. Part of him was supremely annoyed that despite the fact that Keith had no idea what was supposed to be happening, Lance seemed to be keeping them both perfectly in step with the Tuarikians around them. Mostly, he was just relieved that somehow he was being spared from the ultimate embarrassment falling all over himself would be. He certainly wasn’t doing them any favors, constantly stepping on Lance’s feet and bumping the top of his head into his chin.

“Hey, stop looking at your feet.” Lance scolded, but when Keith looked up he was smiling. He looked smug of course, but also like he was honestly having fun, and Keith pouted harder while looking pointedly over the taller boy’s shoulder. Something in the music changed, and suddenly Lance was pushing him away, holding his hand above their heads and twirling the unsuspecting red pilot in an upsettingly graceful spin. Lance pulled him back in and Keith felt like he might actually combust, he was blushing so furiously.

“What the hell was that?!” He demanded, holding onto Lance’s frustratingly solid frame for dear life. Lance had no right to be so strong, he was _never_ in the training room. Keith began to suspect some form of cheating.

Lance just laughed. “ _That’s_ why you gotta look up, bro. Gotta be ready for that shit. Now don’t freak out.” He said, before putting his hands on Keith’s waist and lifting him up. Keith’s face went molten and he yelped inelegantly. Lance was grinning, and Keith was _absolutely_ freaking out. Looking around for anything to distract him from this ridiculously confident version of Lance and the fact that he was _lifting him into the air_ , he was unexpectedly struck by how frankly magical all the other dancers looked, being lifted simultaneously. As his feet touched back down he frowned his hardest, because letting Lance think it was okay to just _pick him up like it was easy_ couldn't be allowed. But as Lance continued to laugh and the dance continued to happen, he started to relax, even if it was somewhat unwillingly. Following Lance was easy as long as he actually let him lead, and sooner than later he found himself gliding along without difficulty. 

Lance, on the other hand, looked less and less pleased with himself as Keith got better. Every time he executed a complicated spin or a lift and Keith _maybe_ freaked out, just a tiny bit, the blue pilot seemed to perk back up. Keith frowned grumpily, realizing that putting this rivalry to bed wasn't going to happen overnight after all. 

The music wound down, and everyone clapped. Keith exhaled a long sigh, adrenaline flooding out of his system. Lance released him, and he turned away to escape the dance floor. _One dance had to be enough._

Of course, he didn't get two steps before he nearly ran into someone.

“May I cut in?” A beautiful Tuarikian lady asked, not bothering to answer before grabbing Keith and pulling him back into the dancing position. She positioned their arms so that he would be the leader, and he thought he was probably two seconds away from full on panic. The music started up again, and Keith whipped his head around to see Lance gliding away perfectly with another Tuarikian woman, whom it seemed was not averse to Lance's immediate heavy flirting. Keith looked back at his patiently waiting dance partner, and gulped thickly. _Well, ok, how hard could this be?_

So hard.

_It was so hard._

Keith lasted maybe a minute before everyone else was spinning and he _wasn't_ , his partner looking less and less forgiving. He stepped on her foot-- _hard_ \--and she yelped, promptly dropping his hands and storming away. 

“Wait, I'm sorry I-”

Laughter from behind him interrupted his apology, and Keith whirled on Lance, fuming.

“You _suck_ , dude!” he complained, noting with surprise that Lance was missing his beautiful and oddly indulgent dance partner.

“What, I thought you had it, Mr. Natural.” Lance looked smug as hell, and Keith was again full of the temptation to literally smack the look off his face.

“After _one dance_ where I spent the entirety of it letting you lead me around? Are you kidding? I have literally no idea what I'm doing!” Keith whisper-shouted, trying not to make a scene, and also trying not to blush _again_.

Lance didn't manage to keep his color in check. “Oh.” He said quietly, suddenly sheepish.

“Yeah, that’s right Lance, _you win this one_. Not that we should have been competing in the first place, but _yes_ , you _win_.” Keith seethed, more annoyed than he should be in the face of his embarrassment on the dance floor.

Lance looked actually a little pleased, but mostly ashamed. _Good_. Keith huffed. Lance scratched the back of his neck, and then smoothly pulled them both out of the way of another pair of dancers. 

“I'm sorry.” He said, looking sincere. A fresh breeze from the courtyard wafted through, giving Keith goosebumps. The bright flickering light cast strange patterns on Lance’s tan face, oddly emphasizing the honesty painted there. The fire of annoyance that had been building in Keith’s stomach snuffed out. 

“...It's okay.” He relented, his stomach twisting strangely. Lance straightened up again, eyes suddenly bright, and Keith's hackles raised. 

“Soooooo,” Lance leaned closer, and Keith fought to keep his heart rate normal. “Do you wanna go again, maybe?” 

Keith’s jaw dropped, and his attempts to keep his blush under control failed. “ _Why?!_ ” He most certainly did not squeak.

Lance threw him a lopsided smile. “Well, I mean, I… was kind of having fun?” He looked sheepish again, and it felt like Keith had been kicked in the stomach. 

Who knew he was susceptible to the kicked puppy look.

Keith didn’t respond, just frowned grumpily at the floor and held out his hand. Lance let out a triumphant bark, took hold of Keith and spun them off back into the dance like they’d never even paused.

Keith let himself be swept away, and tried not to think too hard about that figure of speech.

 

Across the hall by the safety of the refreshments table, the rest of team Voltron observed their two dancing teammates with interest.

“So who had any idea that Lance knew how to dance?” Shiro asked, intrigued.

Hunk chuckled. “Oh, yeah. I don’t know if you can imagine how surprised I was the first time he dragged me to a club and didn’t immediately embarrass the crap out of himself.” He shoved some kind of kebab in his mouth and continued while chewing, “I guess he also took dance classes when he was younger with Luci, but everything I’ve heard about that is that they both unequivocally hated it.”

“Seems like somebody was _lying_.” Allura hummed.

“Well, I guess he couldn’t be bad at everything.” Pidge snorted. 

Allura giggled and then coughed to cover it. “Lance is a paladin of Voltron and he would not have been chosen if he wasn’t a skilled individual, despite his best efforts to appear otherwise.” She said in her best princess voice. Pidge and Hunk laughed, and she sighed, smiling. “Shiro, would you care for another dance?”

Shiro chuckled, accepting her extended hand and leading her back out to the dance floor. Coran was also swiftly kidnapped by a local lady, leaving Pidge and Hunk to hide behind the refreshment table by themselves. Pidge eyed the surprise rookie dance team for a while, before finally nudging her friend, who was still hip deep in bite-sized foods.

“Alright Hunk, let’s go bother the newlyweds.” Pidge instigated, and the two shared a mischievous grin.

________________________

Keith hadn’t seen Hunk coming at all, which was more than a little concerning. How had he gotten so caught up in dancing that he’d miss something that big barreling towards him? Hunk collided with him, and Lance gripped him harder, sending them all into a crazy spin instead of falling over entirely.

“WHAT THE QUIZNAK?!” Lance shouted, but Hunk and Pidge were laughing uncontrollably, and the sound was infectious. 

“Come on Lance, dance with me! We’re jealous of your _smooth moves_.” Pidge teased, grinning hugely.

Keith’s first thought should have been “ _oh, thank goodness, I’m free_.” But because nothing ever went the way he hoped it would, it went a lot more like “ _hey, I was here first_.” He tried not to pout as Lance released him, turning his full flirt-mode on and dipping Pidge as a joke. Hunk bumped him softly, and held out a hand in an overly extravagant flourish that pulled a laugh out of Keith despite his unintentionally sour mood. Keith accepted, and while the two of them were equally terrible at following the steps of the dance properly, their shared incompetence ended up being hilarious and fun instead of embarrassing. After Pidge had danced with Lance for a song, they traded partners again. Lance tried to dip Hunk as well, and actually succeeded despite looking like his eyeballs were trying to escape their sockets as he held up his friend. All four of them laughed uproariously as Lance led Hunk around, and Keith started to understand what Lance had meant when he said it might have been awkward if Keith was taller than him. They got to another lifting part again, and Keith had finally found the pattern well enough to hoist Pidge up into the air. She cackled as he lifted her, and Keith quickly realized it was because Lance was trying to lift Hunk. Several of the surrounding dancers joined in on the laughter, seeming to view their antics fondly. They switched again, Keith leading Lance and spinning him way more than necessary, trying to make him dizzy. Hunk accidentally chucked Pidge into the air during a lift, which caused her to cackle again, and several Tuarikian women clamored for similar treatment.

They kept laughing and switching partners until Hunk first tired out and left to find his room. Pidge quickly headed for bed after they shared a hilarious three-person dance for a song, and then it was just Keith and Lance again. Amidst the fun Keith had completely forgotten to be uncomfortable dancing with Lance.

“Hey, where’d you learn to dance like this, anyway?” Keith asked, after Lance pulled him back in from a spin.

Lance looked a little embarrassed. “Well, my dad is kind of high up in the Garrison, so my mom thought that me and my siblings should be as refined as possible so we weren’t just a pack of wild animals running around at family-work events. She sent us to these stupid cotillion classes that were supposed to teach us manners and ballroom dancing, and honestly they were awful. The boys had to pick girls in the class to dance with, so it was always a shitty stampede to Alison McNabb. She was the prettiest, I guess. I used to do it too until Luci--my twin sister--made me realize how shitty that must’ve made the other girls feel. So after a while I just kept going straight for Kyoko Enomoto, who had a snaggle-tooth. But she was a really good dancer, and really nice and smart, and I ended up accidentally having a lot of fun. So after the cotillion thing was over Kyoko asked if I wanted to keep dancing and I thought it would be cool.” Lance trailed off. “We, uh, may have ended up high school national champs my freshman year.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a nerd.” Keith said automatically, but really he was just impressed. Lance _was_ really good, it wasn’t that hard to imagine him winning some sort of competition. And some uncomfortable part of his gut was warming at the thought of Lance ignoring his naturally shallow nature to dance with this Kyoko girl.

Lance looked a little wounded, and Keith ducked his head, chagrined. “If you weren’t such a nerd I probably would have died in the first two minutes of this tonight. I...had a lot of fun.” He coughed, trying to downplay the compliment. 

Lance beamed, and Keith sighed.

Both boys startled when the band stopped playing and started packing up.

“Oh, wow, how long were we…?” He trailed off, still riding high on endorphins. Lance gave him a sideways grin, and Keith was grateful he was flushed enough from dancing that this blush wouldn’t be noticeable. 

“I dunno but I’m beat.” Lance stretched, yawning. Keith stared unconsciously, taking in the lean lines Lance cut deprived of his jacket. Luckily Lance didn’t seem to notice.

“King Higar said we’d have rooms provided, right? Let’s go see if we can find ours.” Lance suggested, heading off towards the main doorway, following the last of the crowd exiting the ballroom. Keith watched him go for a moment, before he suddenly _realized_ he was staring, and jogged to catch up. Lance flagged down a servant and asked her to direct them to their rooms. She obliged pleasantly, leading them down several ornately decorated corridors until they ended up in a hallway with several doors on one side and an intricately cut-out wall on the other, letting in moonlight and some of the cool night breeze. She stopped in front of a door that was--coincidentally--patterned with an interlocking red and blue geometric design. Bowing slightly, she opened it, and gestured inside.

“Is this one mine, or his?” Lance asked sleepily, and the servant cocked an eyebrow.

“You do not wish to share a room with your husband?” The servant girl asked, sounding somewhere between confused and suspicious. 

“OH. No, sorry, yes, this is, this is fine!” Lance covered quickly. Keith sighed and put a hand to his forehead. 

_Of course he’d forgotten already_. “Thank you miss, this is perfect.” Keith said, trying to smile as winningly as possible. The servant girl didn’t look reassured, but she smiled them into the room and closed the door after them anyway.

The room was huge, with a big intricately carved wooden canopy bed off to one side, and a few small couches on the other, next to an equally gorgeously carved writing desk. The far wall was just a folding paper separator, and past it was an open balcony made with the same cut-out design as the hallway outside. The balcony looked out over the garden courtyard, and there were trellises of the night-blooming blossoms separating their balcony from the neighbors. Another folding separator screened off the washroom, which housed a huge raised tub filled with hot water running through it like a stream. Everything in the bathroom seemed to be made of some kind of delicate porcelain, decorated with the intricate geometric patterns and golden accents that themed the rest of the palace. 

Keith wandered the room, reveling in the luxury. He wasn’t really sure whether he’d ever seen anyplace more beautiful. He’d lived out in the desert his whole life, first in a series of impoverished foster-homes, then at the Garrison. The Castle of Lions was beautiful, of course, but it was beautiful in that extremely functional way a spaceship had to be. This place was beautiful just for the sake of it, and it was truly something to behold.

Keith turned, intending maybe to say something about the intricacies in the carving work on the writing desk, to find Lance just sort of frowning at the bed. Keith’s brain started turning, and he realized the problem quickly.

“You can have the bed.” He said easily, really not caring. He’d either curl up on one of the small couches or just sleep on the floor. Neither could be worse than the pallet he’d had when he’d lived in his shack after being expelled, and the luxurious woven rugs that covered the floor actually looked pretty comfortable.

Lance frowned harder. “You can’t sleep on a couch. You won’t fit.”

“It’s fine, I’ll just sleep on the floor.” Keith shrugged. Lance looked stricken.

“You can’t sleep on the floor. Look, you take the bed. I’ll manage.” He yawned, grabbing a few of the abundant pillows from the bed and heading toward the open floor.

Keith bristled. “Wait a minute, why can you sleep on the floor but I can’t?”

“I can’t take the bed while you sleep on the floor, I’ll feel guilty all night. Now just get in there and go to sleep!” Lance snapped, getting grumpy as he became more and more tired.

Keith crossed his arms. “No fucking way. You get in the bed. You’re the one that looks like he won’t make it another minute without some decent sleep.”

“Come on man, stop arguing with me and take the bed!” Lance whined, dragging his hands down his face.

“Lance, you sleep with headphones _and_ an eyemask. That’s not the kind of shit somebody who sleeps easily does. You’ll never make it on the floor, just take the stupid bed!” Keith tried to keep his voice even, but the fire of his annoyance was burning bright again. They’d just spent _hours_ not fighting even once, was it really too much to ask to just go to bed peacefully one time?

“I don’t care what you say. I’m not taking the bed, and you can’t make me.” Lance sneered with the sleepy grumpiness of a five year old. He dropped his pillows on the floor and pulled a blanket off the end of the bed.

“Fine, be an idiot, but I absolutely refuse to take it instead. I’m sleeping on the floor and there’s nothing you can do about it.” Keith groused, also grabbing an armful of pillows and blankets.

“ _Ke~~~~ith_.” Lance whined. “Take the bed!”

“No!”

Both of them were curled up in their hastily made nests on the floor at this point.

“So we’re just both gonna sleep on the floor.” Lance asked rhetorically.

“I guess so.” Keith spat, rolling over on his side. “This is so dumb.” He sighed.

“ _You’re_ so dumb!” Lance retorted. Keith snorted.

“Goodnight, Lance.” he snarked.

“Goodnight, Mullet.” Lance snapped back.

Silence washed over them, and between their physical exhaustion and the sweet-scented cool night air filtering through from the open balcony, sleep found them swiftly.


	4. If We Don’t Kick it Into Gear We Won’t Make This Jump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY FRIENDS sorry it's been so long, I had a friend visiting from out of state for three weeks, and I couldn't really write at my leisure. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming now.
> 
> Thank you all for visiting, I'm having a really good time with this and I hope you are too!
> 
> Eternal thanks to my beautiful beta [asperaadastra](http://archiveofourown.org/users/asperaadastra/pseuds/asperaadastra).

Lance woke up warm. Streaks of sunlight were falling across his face, creeping in over the paper divider that hid the guestroom from the courtyard. The light breeze that wafted in was cool, dry, and smelled like berries and sun-baked dirt. Lance had missed the feeling of sunlight so immensely, it took him a moment to register his extreme discomfort. Precious golden light was touching him, so the aches in his hips and shoulders were unimportant. He nuzzled into the fluffy pillow he was clutching more comfortably, kicking his legs out in a luxurious stretch.

“ _Ow_ ,” a gravely voice grumped as Lance’s foot came into contact with something solid.

Lance sighed, sitting up on his elbows just enough to glare in Keith’s direction. His eyes were crusted over and would only open the slightest bit, but he could make out the red paladin smushed up against one of the couches, trying to shove Lance’s foot off. “Sorry,” Lance said lightly, pulling his foot back. He observed their positions on the floor again and realized he must have shoved Keith into the couches in the night like an asshole. He started to feel bad, but then decided his grouchiness was legitimate, because Keith hadn’t taken the bed when it was totally free. _Bet’cha regret it now don’t you Keith_.

Lance was just managing to sit up, stretching and yawning widely, when a knock came at the door and it promptly burst open.

“Good morning S...irs?” a servant girl greeted, and then paused when she did not find them in the bed. She continued past it and took in their positions on the floor, brows drawing together in confusion. She shook her head quickly and continued, “breakfast is served, please attend the dining hall at your leisure. I’ve brought you both a change of clothes, if you’d like, please leave your current wardrobe by the door and we will have it washed for you.” She bowed deeply, and Keith and Lance shared a horrified look.

Lance coughed. “Ah, thank you, miss. That all sounds… great,” he struggled.

She nodded, and left.

Lance flopped bonelessly back onto the floor. “Well, fuck.”

Keith groaned, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Who just barges in like that! Fuck. Fuck!”

Lance sighed. “At least we were idiots and we both slept on the floor?” The sun had risen just high enough now for a beam of pure pain to strike him right in the eyes, and he sat up grouchily. “Shit.” Figuring there was nothing for it but to go get dressed and get down to breakfast, he wrestled his way out of his nest and walked over to the dresser the servant girl had placed their new clothes on. Keith struggled up to meet him.

“I’m gonna take a bath I guess.” Keith said, running a hand through his mussed up hair. Lance’s eyes lingered on the motion a little too long for his own liking. He coughed, and Keith raised an eyebrow.

“No uh, yeah, that’s cool, I’ll change out here?” He said, words tumbling out of his mouth stupidly. Keith just nodded, grabbed the outfit with the most red in it, and headed behind the paper divider.

Lance gratefully took off his shirt which, after last night’s dance-a-palooza, was pretty rank. He looked for it’s replacement in the pile of cloth on the dresser, and found a soft cream-colored tank top with straps that seemed way too long. The pants provided were loose and cropped, with intricately embroidered blue cuffs coming in under his knees, and a matching blue waistband. The outfit was completed with a heavily embroidered sleeveless blue vest, and some comfortable slippers. The fit of everything, especially the shoes, had him feeling unusually paranoid, and he wondered when exactly the servants had had the opportunity to size him so exactly.

Gentle splashing noises sounded from behind the partition, and Lance decided that if Keith was gonna take his sweet time in the bath he might as well enjoy the balcony. Lance pulled the folding wall open, and stepped out onto the terrace. The sun was warm and huge in the sky, and a cool breeze floated by. His family used to go camping in the desert sometimes to go stargazing when he was younger, and he was forcefully reminded of the sun waking him up in the middle of nowhere. He looked out over the sprawling courtyard gardens and sighed. Luci would love this. Camping in the desert was always her favorite, and she seemed happiest covered in dust and surrounded by plants that wanted to stab her to death. She always lit up a little brighter when they found flowers, and the courtyard gardens were a combination of huge-looking succulents and gigantic, towering flowered bushes. The night-blooming vines crept up every wall, connecting the shade trees (also ripe with huge purple blossoms) that lined the perimeter to the higher levels. A huge fountain decorated the center, it’s floor a sparkling mosaic that drew Lance’s eyes and held them.

The ache in his chest grew painfully as he imagined his younger siblings, especially Martin (who liked to think he was the prankster of the family, and yes, Lance’s mother _was_ a saint) running around the garden and playing in the huge fountain.

“You’ve gotta be _kidding_ me.” Keith cursed, shaking Lance out of his reverie.

“What is it?” He called, turning his head but not bothering to move from his seat on the balcony.

Keith appeared from behind the partition, face flushed with anger. “Did they give _you_ a whole shirt?” he demanded. “They did! This is ridiculous!”

Lance blinked in response. Keith was wearing a thematically similar outfit to his own, loose pants coming in at the ankle instead of the knee and done in a red motif instead of blue, with one noticeable difference. That difference being that Keith’s shirt went down to just past his chest and then… stopped.

“Oh my god, they gave you a crop top.” Lance blurted, holding it together for maybe ten whole seconds before the laughter exploded out of him. Keith turned even redder, promptly kicking Lance in the shin.

“Dude, you’re used to looking ridiculous, trade shirts with me.” Keith begged as Lance cradled his wounded appendage, still laughing.

“No way man, it’s red, they’ll know you didn’t like it and pawned it off on me.” Lance was full on crying with laughter at this point. Keith groaned, and Lance wiped his eyes, ab muscles starting to cramp from laughing too hard. “To be fair, you do wear that awful cropped jacket all the time, they probably thought that was your jam.”

“My jacket is not _awful_. _Your_ jacket is awful, who needs anything that bulky in a temperature controlled spaceship?” Keith shot back. 

Lance gasped, stricken. “My nana bought me that jacket as a Christmas gift you _monster_.”

“Yeah well, my jacket’s one of the only personal items I’ve ever owned, so I’d _appreciate it_ if you didn’t shit all over it.” Keith sniped.

Lance’s insides felt like they’d been flash-frozen. _So much for operation best friend ever, you colossal douche_. How did one person manage to be such a dick? He was really out-doing himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said, soft and desperate.

Keith seemed thrown and didn’t respond, face going expressionless. Lance stood up, taking in the slightly shorter paladin and his stupid crop top. It was as beautifully made as the rest of the items they’d been given, heavily embroidered red and gold. It showed off his well-defined abs, emphasized the deep-v of his hips, and really, it suited him. Honestly, the way Keith was put together was just plain unfair. 

“Anyway, it’s not like you don’t look good in it. Get your shit together and let’s go eat.” Lance said quickly, only realizing what he was saying too late to stop and take it back. He dove past Keith to head back into the room, and if he thought Keith’s flush might have deepened a few shades, he figured it must just be out of embarrassment. 

___________________

When they finally found the dining hall, Allura was not pleased to see them. Lance caught the murderous look in her eye first, and tried to backtrack out of the hall. When he turned around however, Coran was blocking the way, looking more imposing than Lance was used to seeing him. Lance didn’t even have time to turn back to look for another escape route before Allura had both him and Keith by the ears, dragging them into an adjacent sitting room. Coran slammed the doors shut on them, staying outside presumably to keep guard.

The princess let them go roughly, tossing them forward a few steps. “You _fools_ ,” she nearly shouted. Lance felt a little better seeing Keith was cringing just as hard as he was. The princess began pacing the room, clearly distraught. Lance shot Keith a nervous look, and noted that the red paladin looked white as a sheet. “Do you have any idea what kind of mess you’ve made here?” She asked eventually, sighing hugely.

“We, uh… didn’t expect anyone to come in? Also, how do you know already?” Lance sputtered lamely. Keith said nothing, eyes downcast.

Allura frowned at both of them. “The mice told me.” Her voice was as flat as her look, and she regarded both off them coldly before sighing and turning to pace the floor. 

“Paladins, you must understand. Tuarik is a very naturally wealthy planet. If they join the Voltron Alliance, their backing could help us fund first lines of defense for other planets--whole systems even. Voltron cannot be everywhere at once, and if we want to begin taking back the universe, we must protect the people we rescue even when we are not physically present.” The princess explained all this patiently, but the edge of frustration in her voice was still very apparent. “Now, whether you realize it or not, your little _stunt_ to protect Keith has put our negotiations in danger.” Allura leaned towards Lance, causing him to stand up as straight as possible and sweat. “The Tuarikians place an extreme emphasis on family, and they are bound by very strict codes of honor. If a marriage offer is made for a prince or princess, it is accepted, because to decline would be too great an insult to survive. Keith, you have declined, and the _only_ thing protecting you is this farce.” She gestured between both boys. “Now, can you imagine for a moment what would happen to our negotiations, should the king discover your deception?” She asked, staring pointedly.

Lance gulped. “I think we’re getting the idea,” he said, with a bit of hopeful levity.

Allura’s brow flattened down. “Yes, I should hope so. Now, the mice have told me that there is already a rumor amongst the servants that everything is not right with the two of you. As you know, one of them caught you both sleeping on the floor this morning, not even remotely close to each other. Combine this with the fact that aside from dancing all night, the two of you barely made eye contact yesterday, and the picture begins to look decidedly _grim_.” She divulged, disappointment and expectation clear.

Both boys exchanged a nervous glance.

“We’re sorry, princess.” Keith said with a military bite. “We’ll do better, and we won’t endanger the negotiations.”

Allura graced him with a look as sharp as knives. “You had better not.” She released him, standing up straight and facing them both again. “I understand that your relationship has not been the smoothest--In fact, your animosity towards one another remains the greatest detriment to the current success of our mission as paladins of Voltron, nevermind our current predicament. It's irrational, and right now, it's inexcusable. If there was ever a time to put your usual bickering aside, it is now. You are supposed to be _newlyweds_. People expect you to be in your honeymoon phase, and you are going to have to make them believe you are. Understood?”

Lance gulped, but managed to squeak out a shaky, “Yes, ma’am. Understood.” Keith parroted the same, seemingly on autopilot.

Allura nodded sharply. “Alright. I’m going to leave first with Coran. You two get comfortable with each other, and don’t come out until you think you can look like you’re actually in love with each other.”

She swept out of the room gracefully, leaving Keith and Lance to freeze in their own cold sweat.

Slowly, carefully, Lance looked toward Keith. He looked visibly distraught, and Lance felt his heart plummet. Of course he’d be distraught. What _possible_ reasons could he have to be comfortable playing paramour to Lance? So far his Best Friend Ever plan was a pile of unmitigated failures--he was surprised Keith had even agreed to dance with him last night. Lance sighed, steeling himself.

“Look, Keith, if acting close with me is too much for you, we can pretend I was called away on some sort of important mission, I’ll just go back to the ship and-”

“Like that wouldn’t be even _more_ suspicious.” Keith grumbled darkly.

Lance snapped his mouth shut, unsure of how to navigate the conversation when the other boy seemed to be so legitimately upset.

Keith simmered for a moment, and then boiled over. “Being bad at friendship is one thing for us. Being bad emissaries of Voltron is _different_. I’m just… disappointed in myself.” 

Lance’s throat dried up as he tried to think of what to say to that. It was obvious that being a paladin meant a lot to Keith in a way that it just didn’t register for any of the others except maybe Shiro. Eventually he managed to ask, staring at an extravagant chaise to avoid Keith’s eyes, “so… why does it mean so much to you, anyway?”

Keith stiffened. “What do you mean?” he asked, regarding Lance out of the corner of his eye.

Lance kicked at nothing, scuffing the vibrant rug that covered the floor. He cringed slightly, and then expanded, “Voltron, I mean. You seem really… dedicated, for someone who was just thrown into this. Like, Shiro I get, he was a Garrison pilot and Zarkon’s prisoner. But you’re the same as me and Hunk and Pidge. I just... why?” _Wow, Lance, way to sound like an exemplary defender of the universe_.

Keith stared at him for a few more moments, and then sat down on the chaise, boneless.

“Lance, do you remember when we first found Shiro, and I was explaining about sensing the blue lion’s energy, and I said I’d been really _lost_ after getting booted from the Garrison?” Keith asked, sounding worn down. 

Lance blinked, surprised. “Er, sure?” He responded, sitting down next to Keith carefully, making sure to leave plenty of space between them on the chaise.

“Well, I was lost because the only thing I’d ever been good at was torn out from under me. And it was after… after Shiro went missing. Shiro was kind of… my mentor? Before he went missing, I mean.” Sharing all this seemed to be physically difficult for Keith, and Lance listened quietly, somehow sure that if he interrupted Keith would stop and wouldn’t ever start again. And for whatever reason, he found he _really_ wanted to know where this was going.

“Anyway, Shiro was, _is_ important, to me, and he went missing. And I couldn’t accept the Garrison’s story that he was gone at the result of pilot error--Shiro’s the best pilot I’ve ever seen. There was no way he messed up. So, I kind of… lost it, I guess. I felt like I couldn’t trust any of our instructors, and the one thing I’d ever wanted to do was warped, twisted into something… shady.” Keith sighed, leaning his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I spent a lot of time out in that desert trying to decide what my life was gonna be about, if not… protecting people. Making sure no one else ended up like… like me.”

Lance’s stomach bottomed out. He’d made fun of Keith for being kicked out _so many times_. He didn’t have time to start the impending downward spiral this new information would undoubtedly send him in however, because now Keith was making eye contact, and Lance could not break it.

“Then all this happened, and not only do I get to be a pilot again, but, the universe _needs_ me. I can… Lance, we can save so many people.” 

Lance couldn’t do anything but stare. Keith started to shuffle uncomfortably.

“I, I mean…” Keith coughed. “I don’t know why I told you all that. You didn’t-”

Lance grabbed Keith’s forearm, frantic to keep him from withdrawing. “ _Thank you._ ” He said, quickly. Keith turned back to him with wide eyes. “Thank you.” Lance said again, slower, deliberate. “I wanted to know.” He swallowed, “I won’t mess this up for you. For… for us. We’re gonna save this whole universe, and if I have to hold your hand to do it well then that’s just what I’ve gotta do.” Trying not to overthink it, trying not to weigh the look of shock in Keith’s eyes, he slid his hand down from where it was still gripping Keith’s forearm. He deliberately interlocked their fingers, Keith’s palm cool and calloused in his own.

Keith was silent, and Lance couldn’t bring himself to look up and judge his reaction. After a tense moment where Lance was nearly 200 percent certain his heart was going to beat right out of his chest, Keith’s fingers closed around his own, and the red paladin let out a soft snort.

“You know, for a guy who’s been dead set on being the biggest brat in the universe for the past few months, you’re pretty soft.” Keith laughed quietly. 

Lance felt his chest swell and he raised his head, already frothing, “I am most certainly not _soft_ you monumental power-tool!”

Keith was already bent in half, laughing so hard he had to brace himself on the chaise with his free-hand. “Oh my god it’s too easy. I was trying to say you’re _nice_ , Lance.” he smiled up at the blue paladin, who’d stood up unconsciously.

Lance felt his face flush, and he didn’t even try to tamp it down. Keith was just _rude_ , and he would probably be the death of Lance.

Keith stood up as well, still holding Lance’s hand. “Alright. Let’s go get some food.” He said, working on getting his laughter under control. He looked up at Lance, eyes bright, smiling widely. “Okay, _Sugar_?”

Outwardly, Lance barked a laugh, replied, “Of course, _Darling!_ ” and followed Keith out of the sitting room obediently. 

Internally, there was only screaming.

 

_____________________

Lance was relieved that Allura seemed mollified when they returned to the dining hall, still holding hands with Keith, the shorter boy smiling wider than Lance was used to seeing. The rest of the team was gathered, dressed in Tuarikian attire and laying into the breakfast spread like it was water and they had been stranded in the desert for weeks. Lance knew exactly how his fellow humans felt. If you asked Lance, the singular greatest drawback to living on a sick space-castle and piloting giant lion robots in effort to save the universe, was the lack of quality eats. Lance wasted no time settling in and piling food up in front of him, squeezing Keith’s hand once unthinkingly before releasing it for better access to the table platters. Hunk was exceptionally excited to help, heaping things that were “the best” and “oh my god you have to try this” onto both Keith and Lance’s plates with reckless abandon. Pidge leaned in towards Keith excitedly, holding up a roll and waggling her eyebrows wildly. Lance watched Keith stare at the roll blankly, clearly not making the connection to whatever had her so excited.

“Oh my god Keith.” Lance said, laughing and explaining gently, “It’s a roll. Rolls are made out of grains. Grains like the grains she was hoping to find so we can make pizza.”

Keith’s eyes widened dramatically, and he turned back to Pidge, now full of an equal level of enthusiasm. “Did you find that thing you needed for cheese?” he asked excitedly, causing Pidge to cackle.

“With Hunk’s help we’ll have the replicator fully functional before the week’s end! These people have so much cheese it isn’t even funny anyway, I think they keep goats? Like, they look sort of like goats. I’m not sure really. Also, hey, Allura, is this even safe? What if we have weird human allergies and this crazy alien goat milk makes us all puff up like that shitty kid in the willy wonka movie that turns into a blueberry-”

“The food goo in the castle is designed to fortify your immune responses for space.” Allura cut Pidge off, not unkindly. She smiled at her team fondly. “You can rest easy that anywhere I am comfortable eating the food you will also be safe. Poisoning on the other hand is still possible, but I assure you it will not happen on accident.”

“Oh. Well, that’s… reassuring?” Pidge replied uncertainly.

“So I guess food goo can’t go off the menu entirely, can it.” Hunk said, visibly disappointed.

“Not entirely. But it’s effects should be unmitigated as long as you consume it once a week, so if you do manage to create a human-food replicator you may use it to replace the goo as your main food staple.” Allura reassured him, smiling serenely. Hunk was instantly reenergized, turning to Pidge and rattling off technical plans that were lost of their crewmates entirely.

Lance popped a cheesy-looking biscuit into his mouth and sighed decadently. _Finally, some aliens with_ taste. He and Keith were both urgently shoveling food in their faces when the Tuarikian princess gracefully entered the hall.

The rest of the team ceased eating to listen politely for whatever the princess had come in to tell them. When Lance and Keith failed to notice, Shiro kicked them both under the table.

“Ahem.” The princess began, unimpressed. “It is the wish of my father that you all attend a lecture this morning on the history and customs of Tuarik, so we may better understand each other and foster a proper alliance of cultures and peoples.” She announced, voice clear and dignified.

Allura stood up, all smiles. “We would be delighted to attend. It would be my honor to share some of the history of Altea and Earth as well.” She bowed formally, ever the perfect diplomat. The other princess seemed appeased, mouth losing some of the harshness it had held since she’d entered the hall.

“We will be gathering in the solarium at your convenience.” the princess said, curtsying prettily and floating back out of the room, long gauzy skirts swirling in her wake.

“It seems Princess Yiva is still a bit upset.” Allura commented quietly once the team was alone again. Lance cocked his head, confused.

“When did you get her name?”

Everyone stared at him except for Keith, who was scratching his cheek and avoiding eye contact.

“You are the worst guest.” Hunk laughed. “Didn’t you talk to anybody at the ball last night?”

“Well, there was that one super hot chick that wanted to dance with me, but I didn’t really have time to chat.” Lance defended typically. Everyone sighed.

“Alright guys, let’s not keep our hosts waiting.” Shiro said with a bit of command edge. The paladins all instinctively straightened up, shoving a few more select morsels into their mouths before being ready to move out. “And please, try to pay attention in the lecture.”

Lance and Keith instinctively looked at one another. All other things aside in their relationship, anyone would agree that listening to things for a long period of time was not the ideal scenario for either of them to excel in.

 _This was going to be torture_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out the fanart for chapter 4 from [Bettiqua](http://bettiquarts.tumblr.com/post/149290171078/please-read-homesick-at-space-camp-by-k0tron) and [Anrylu](http://anrylu.tumblr.com/post/148797496555/keith-in-a-crop-top-was-a-necessary-and-a-must)! <3 <3 <3


	5. With Friends Like These Maybe You'll Be Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS ARE TOO NICE. I seriously can't handle it. Thank you so much for all the wonderful comments, really, they make my day. I hope you continue to enjoy this ridiculous thing. It's getting out of hand. XD

_This was torture_.

Keith was doing his level best to pay attention as the Tuarikian scholar at the front of the solarium droned on about the history of their host planet. He really, really was. But the solarium was warm and sunny, full of huge vaulted open windows overlooking the lush inner courtyard gardens. It was also on the highest level of the castle, and Keith could see amazing desert vistas out past the castle walls. The mesas and weird rock formations were striped in a range of colors from deep purple to bright yellows and oranges. Keith found himself absently wondering how the Tuarikians traveled, and how far away the next nearest settlement was. The castle town surrounding the palace was fairly large, but how big was it in comparison to other cities on the planet? By the time it occurred to Keith again that he could definitely learn the answers to his questions if he just listened for twenty seconds, the lecturer had already passed the topics of his interest, and Keith resigned himself to zoning out again. Really, all this would be so much less difficult if he wasn’t so _tired_. Sleeping on the floor had been awful. Between how cold and hard the tile was and Lance literally kicking him into the couches all night, he wasn’t sure he’d ever had a worse night’s sleep.

Well, maybe that was exaggerating.

“ _Psst._ ”

Keith looked up to find Lance leaning heavily in his chair, looking like he was trying to do his best impression of a blob. His eyes twinkled when Keith’s met them, and a familiar tension crept up his spine. Lance was _plotting something_ , and that, in his experience, was never good.

“ _What_?” Keith whispered, decidedly not ready for this.

“Check out the guy up front, two in on the left.” Lance whispered conspiratorially. Keith surveyed the crowd in the solarium. Several important-looking Tuarikians had joined them for the lecture, presumably to share their experiences or hear from Allura about Altea and Earth. Yiva was seated up front next to Allura, both of them sitting politely with their hands in their laps, looking attentive. Pidge, Hunk, Shiro, and Coran were one row ahead of them, off to the right. Pidge and Hunk looked very politely bored out of their minds, while Shiro looked dutifully interested. Coran was practically chomping at the bit for the new information. Keith continued to scan the crowd and spotted the target, still not understanding why Lance wanted him to look. The man was wearing some kind of elaborate headpiece that covered the back of his head in a heavy hood, with several dark colored braids in criss-crossing patterns constricting the fabric. “I’m just totally imagining he’s hiding something with that big headpiece, y’know?”

Keith looked between Lance and the current object of his interest, feeling the confusion wash over him. It was just a hood. They’d seen tons of people wearing them around the castle, even if this one _did_ look a little over-the-top. His extreme non-comprehension must have read on his face, because Lance quickly continued.

“No dude listen like, what if he has another face on the back of his head and he has to wear the hood to cover it up? How would he feed it? If he’s trying to keep it secret, what would he do if it talked? What kind of face is it anyway? Is it like, a scary monster face, or just like another totally normal lookin’ dude face?” Lance’s blob impression dropped as an idea occurred to him. “What if it’s like a hot _lady_ face?” He grinned at Keith, who could do nothing but stare.

“ _Why are you like this?_ ” Keith asked, feeling completely at a loss.

Lance just grinned. “Look, making up weird-ass stories is way better than staring out the window, and we both know you weren’t listening to this,” he whispered, shrugging towards the lecturer. 

Keith considered that, looking back towards the headpiece-wearing man and squinting. _Well, if you think about it, he does look a little shifty._ Feeling a stray jolt of mischief, Keith subconsciously half-smiled. “But--ok, if he’s got a second head on the back, why’s it covered with such a heavy fabric? Can it breathe? Does it _need_ to?”

Lance looked positively gleeful that Keith had risen to his bait. “Oh no!” He gasped in a loud whisper. “What if the hot lady face suffocates?”

Keith scoffed, “Come on, if it were a hot lady face would he really have to keep it secret?”

“He would if it were an _evil_ hot lady face.” Lance replied, grinning slyly.

Keith laughed out loud before he could check himself.

The lecturer stopped speaking suddenly, and one by one literally every person in the room turned in their seats to stare at Keith, faces all full of disdain. Particularly noteworthy among said faces was Allura’s, who seemed roughly ten seconds away from physically throwing him into the sun. 

Keith was currently completely on board with that scenario. Being tossed into the sun sounded like the perfect solution to this level of embarrassment.

Keith didn’t even have time to shut his mouth, which was hanging open uselessly, before Lance stood up and mercifully drew the focus of the room to himself and away from Keith. “I’m sorry everyone, I was being distracting.” he said seriously, bowing slightly before sitting back down. “Please continue, you have our full attention.” 

Keith took full advantage of Lance’s cover, sitting up straight and focusing ahead, like he hadn’t just been unforgivably disrespectful. Lance also looked ahead as politely and sincerely as he could manage, like throwing himself under the bus like that was no big deal. A few people grumbled quietly, and Keith distinctly caught one older lady mumble something about “ungrateful youngin’s.” Unable to find any further fault with the pair however, the room settled back down, and the lecture resumed.

Keith looked up to Lance again, mostly just curious to see how he was doing in the aftermath of their narrowly-avoided public execution, and was completely unprepared when Lance shot him a sideways grin and a wink. _A literal wink_. Keith blinked a few times, feeling inexplicably like he’d just touched a live wire. Then--covering his mouth this time--he dissolved into silent laughter.

If Keith’s pulse stuttered and he felt a little warm it was definitely because they were in the sun room on a hot day, and certainly not because Lance had just risked getting literally murdered to make him laugh. 

The lecture droned on uninterrupted after that and, utilizing every skill in listening comprehension he commanded, Keith managed to pay attention. Maybe the adrenaline rush from his near-death experience was all he needed to focus. Maybe it was the subject matter.

“Compared to some other cultures we have had experience with, the Tuarikian family culture is very complex. Most families are joined in the spirit of alliance, ahead of romantic or reproductive aims. Certainly those things are taken into account in the construction of a family, as no line can be truly lasting without continuously introducing new members. The primarchs of a family line are of course encouraged to propagate, as they are usually the best of their line. Their function is primarily to lead, and to provide for each other and the other members of their clan. If a member of one clan should have a child with a member of another, that child spends time between the two families until they reach an age at which they are allowed to petition one of their parent clans for full membership, which they must do by the age of fifteen, in order for their decided clan to be able to make marriage contracts. All marriage is decided by contract, prearranged by the primarchs of the families.”

 _This seems… unnecessarily complicated._ Keith decided he was glad that his own fake marriage was simple. He'd hate it if he had to be responsible for setting up one of his children with somebody they'd be stuck with for the rest of their lives. Well, with the setup being what it was, it sounded more like he'd be responsible for marrying off Hunk, or Pidge.

Keith was violently grateful not to be the primarch of his family. 

“Family alliances are utilized in a myriad of different manners. A marriage might be procured to secure a business deal, or finalize a political treaty. As younger members of a family have no obligation to be related by blood, status within the family is decided based on merit rather than age or parentage.”

Keith considered the princess Yiva. Since she was the heir to the kingdom, she must have considerable merit. _Why would they even want to marry her off to me in the first place?_ He supposed it made sense for an alliance. They couldn’t exactly form Voltron without him, even if he wasn’t the leader, so if Tuarik found itself in need of aid Voltron would be obligated to come regardless. _Will they even honor the Voltron Alliance without a marriage?_ Keith surveyed the marriageable prospects of his team and shuddered. _Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that._

The subject changed to the farming practices of the Tuarikian agriculturists, and Keith’s focus started slipping again. Spurred on by the pleasant heat of the day, the sweet smell of the garden wafting in through the windows, and possibly because he was being subconsciously influenced by Lance’s behavior, Keith began the slow and boring process of melting into a puddle in his chair. Every once in awhile a piece of interesting information would manage to penetrate, and--picking up a tidbit of particular interest--he mused on the ruins of an older civilization that the lecturer indicated might be found out in the wastes. He’d never really thought about that kind of thing at all until he’d spent time out in the blue lion’s ruins, and now they held a certain special draw. There were mysteries in ruins--puzzles to solve, questions to answer. He’d always liked solving puzzles. His favorite kinds of course were the physical sort, like rubik’s cubes or flight controls--things you could do with your hands.

It took Keith a minute to realize that as he’d gotten lost in his reverie he'd been staring at _Lance's_ hand. It was hanging to the side, exposed as Lance endeavored to become one with his chair. The sun was illuminating the fine hairs on his arm, highlighting the long slender bones of his wrist and fingers. Lance had piano hands. Keith snorted to himself, imagining Lance--a man who still thought the height of humor was fart-jokes--all dressed up, seriously performing some kind of complicated piano piece in front of a bunch of stuffy high-society snobs. The memory of Lance’s expertise when it came to ballroom dancing surfaced abruptly, and Keith pondered the side of his new friend’s face. He noted absently how the light scattered in his ear, lighting it up bright red.

Keith dropped his gaze back to the hand. _Maybe he_ could _play_.

Lance’s fingers twitched, and Keith reached out. He caught the intriguing fingers in his own gently, enjoying their smoothness and the contrast the darker skin made against his own. The sun caught just right, shining through their fingertips, illuminating them from within--that same glowing red color. He studied the hand absently, contentedly… until slowly his mind registered that he was being stared at. That this highly interesting hand was in fact attached to something. 

_Someone_.

Keith slowly looked up to meet the stare being leveled at him, mind racing as he tried to think of a good excuse for why he was doing what he was doing. _It's not even weird, you're ‘married’,_ Keith thought defensively, _and he has explicitly stated he is willing to hold hands for appearances._ His features were schooled into his best ‘you have something to say?’ look by the time he finally locked eyes with Lance, despite his rapidly speeding pulse. 

Lance looked to be some uncomfortable combination of absolutely petrified and coolly casual. He scratched the back of his neck, trying his best to look unruffled, and the image was so pathetic Keith very nearly burst out laughing again. Lance caught the grin Keith couldn't keep of his face, and the tension snapped. A cheshire smile crept across Lance’s face, eyes immediately lighting up with mischief, and he batted his lashes at Keith in the most overtly flirtatious manner possible. Keith had to put his other hand over his mouth to keep from laughing again. 

Keith felt a tentative thumb stroke along his palm, and he relaxed back into his seat, smiling dumbly and watching shadows begin to grow across the latticed ceiling. 

“Keith, Lance, if you'd like to share some Human marriage traditions I'm sure our hosts would be thrilled to hear about them.”

The two boys shot apart like they’d been electrified, with twin expressions looking like they'd just been caught stealing. Allura’s carefully congenial expression became instantly murderous.

Keith coughed, trying to think of how he could possibly smooth that obvious blunder over, but Lance was already standing up to cover for them again.

“Oh! Uh, of course!” Lance stuttered, trying to sort his long limbs into some kind of polite arrangement and only managing to look excruciatingly awkward. He cleared his throat, obviously attempting to sound serious. “Well, uh, um, I mean,” he floundered, brain clearly not ready to produce any sort of relevant information in the slightest. Keith couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He was catching on to the pattern now. It appeared this was the best method of action Lance’s brain could come up with for being good at friendship--leaping in front of any metaphorical bullets coming Keith’s way, be they unexpected questions or unwanted marriage proposals.

Even though Keith found Lance’s flustered state hillarious, he knew this whole ‘being friends’ thing was supposed to be a two-way street. Keith stood up smoothly, putting a hand on Lance’s back to calm him down.

“Marriage on Earth is… really simple. Some parents still arrange marriages for their kids, but generally everyone gets married for romantic reasons.” Keith explained as smoothly as he could. Talking wasn’t exactly his favorite thing to do, but it was his turn to be the rescuer, and he wouldn’t let Lance _or_ Allura down. “There’s generally a wedding, which usually has some sort of commitment ceremony, and a reception for friends and family and stuff afterward. Most government-recognized families are related by blood, but there are also the kinds you choose for yourself.”

Lance was just staring at him with a look somewhere between impressed and surprised, face still a little red from embarrassment. “Uh. Yes. All that.” He added, facing the room again. “Also, usually the government gives you a tax break, so there’s that plus.” Pidge and Hunk were snickering, and Allura, Coran, and Shiro looked mildly amused.

“So the two of you have married for love?” Princess Yiva asked, standing at the front of the room. 

Keith immediately tensed up, but this time Lance was ready. “Of course!” He grinned, slipping an arm around Keith’s waist and drawing him close. “It was love at first sight.” He said, staring dreamily into Keith’s eyes and batting his lashes again. For a moment, all Keith could do was sweat. He _knew_ Lance was joking, knew it was their cover, but he couldn’t help blushing furiously anyway, and he had to physically resist the temptation to shove Lance away. Flirting wasn’t something he had ever had much experience with, and usually it was girls trying to hit on him. They generally didn’t leverage their taller statures over him and try to act suave. Not that that was _working_ or anything, of course, Lance’s idea of flirting was tragically hilarious on his best day, but something in his gut told him being the first one to initiate casual intimacy in their fake relationship had been a mistake. Now the gates were open, and Lance was loose.

Keith was so screwed.

“This is true?” Yiva asked severely, shaking Keith out of his thoughts. He met her gaze solidly and did his best to rest a hand on Lance’s chest, cuddle up, and look comfortable. The accusatory tone in her voice didn’t bode well at all--now was the time to sell it. Lance’s hand slid up his waist, and he cursed whoever had decided he didn’t deserve a whole shirt for the millionth time as goosebumps broke out over his skin.

“It is.” He replied firmly, trying to channel as much ‘just try me’ into his expression as possible. Yiva considered them both coolly, eyes seeming to try to bore holes through Lance’s chest. 

“Hey, you guys still need rings.” Pidge piped up helpfully, immediately diffusing the weird pressure in the room. The focus shifted to her and she elaborated. “They got married on the ship so we didn't have any handy, but traditionally in most human marriages, the couple exchanges rings to symbolize their commitment to each other.”

“Well then.” Yiva said coolly. “We must take you to the royal jeweler’s at once.” 

 

And with terrifyingly little ado, the lecture was finished, and Keith and Lance were following Yiva down yet another architecturally extravagant corridor.

“So, paladins, how long exactly have you been married?” Yiva inquired politely after about five minutes of nothing but the sound of their beautifully embroidered slippers padding across the tiles. Something about her tone had Keith’s hackles raised, and he said nothing, betting on Lance’s general inability to shut up to answer this one for them.

“Oh, not long at all. A month or so, it’s a bit difficult keeping track of the date in space.” Lance provided smoothly, right on cue.

Yiva nodded, smiling. “That is indeed a short time. Since you have yet to procure rings, have you also not managed to have a ceremony?”

“We had something small on the ship. You know, real low-key.” Lance responded easily.

Yiva commented that it was too bad their families couldn’t be present, which caused Lance to go into a long-winded tale about how it was probably for the best anyway. By the time they had traveled down several levels, Keith knew more about Lance’s Nana and her tendency to blow everything out of proportion than he’d ever expected to know. The corridor ended, and Lance shut up immediately, gasping at the view. The wide staircase they’d been descending had opened onto a full underground bazaar. The space seemed to go on forever, with stunningly detailed mosaics covering the pillars and ceiling, mimicking warm hued desert rocks and bright blue sky of the terrain above.

“This is our royal crafting guild hall. The castle is fully self-sufficient, so in the event of a siege we can survive nearly indefinitely. Truthfully, we’d been under attack already for nearly ten months before you came across our distress signal. If we join your alliance, we will have a direct line of communication in case of another such event, yes?” Yiva caught Keith’s eye with a fierce look.

“Of course.” He said simply. “If you need help and we are capable of assisting you, we absolutely will.” He tried to sound as much like Shiro as he could manage--full of certainty and trustworthiness. 

Yiva still looked suspicious, but she nodded in acceptance anyway. Keith and Lance met eyes and shrugged. She lead the way past dozens of crafting stalls, stores, and workshops, ending their journey at the most ostentatious entryway Keith had ever seen. The entire doorway was gilded in huge worked sheets of gold, crafted to look like some kind of (possibly-mythical and possibly-completely-real-on-this-planet) dragons were guarding the threshold. Every other scale on each dragon was made out of some kind of precious gem, and the glittering effect was overwhelming. Allura hadn’t been kidding when she’d said this planet was wealthy. Yiva smoothly entered the workshop, and Keith could do nothing but follow her in.

Lance immediately proceeded to be Lance. He marvelled at all the pieces on display within the workshop, making loud “OOOH”s and touching things that looked frighteningly expensive. Keith felt his heart jump into his throat as Lance picked up an extremely delicate looking almost-horse that seemed to be made out of a latticework of carved crystal.

“ _Lance_ ,” he called, unable to hide his edge of panic. Lance looked up innocently.

“What? I’m not gonna drop it.” Lance pouted, not putting it down.

A huge voice boomed a laugh, causing Lance to jump and very nearly do what he had just promised he wouldn’t. “Even if he did, it would not break.”

Out of the shadows of the back room had emerged a huge man, dressed head to toe in protective leather.

Yiva curtsied smoothly, smiling up at the giant. “Master Ravig, allow me to introduce Keith, and Lance, two of the brave heroes that rescued us from the Galran attack that has plagued us these many months.” Yiva’s tone had changed so considerably, Keith felt like he would get whiplash. Gone was the suspicious politician, replaced with a friendly girl he didn’t recognize in the slightest.

The giant erupted in another jovial laugh, reminding Keith very much of the sound a volcano might make should it find something funny. “Brave heroes! You must be brave and heroic indeed to elicit such a glowing review from our princess. Welcome, Keith and Lance. What can I do for you on this fine day?” Ravig’s smile was so wide it looked like his face had split in half. The fact that he had a huge beard full of complicated braids did nothing to lessen the effect. Parts of his beard and his big bushy eyebrows seemed singed off, and Keith couldn’t help feeling slightly intimidated. He also couldn’t decide if Ravig was being facetious or not.

Lance put down the horse sculpture and came to stand closer to Keith, face showing a similar confusion. Yiva just beamed.

“These two have recently been married _for love_ , and in their culture it is traditional to exchange rings. Since they are serving as defenders of the universe in deep space, they have been unable to procure any. I thought you might enjoy helping them out.” If Keith didn’t know any better, he’d say that Yiva sounded almost… excited.

Ravig looked like it was Christmas. “By the stars, you are most certainly right!” He clapped each boy on the shoulder, and Keith had to work to stay upright. “Come, come inside, let us discuss!” And with that they were pulled in past the curtain to the giant’s workshop.

Inside was a huge space, lined with even more glittering masterpieces as well as several different work tables, seemingly set up for different types of crafting. There was a huge forge in the back corner, still hot from whatever work Ravig had just left off. Keith had never actually seen an artist’s workshop before, and he was instantly curious about the variety of tools hung up carefully on the walls and their uses.

“Sit down my friends, and let us learn more about you.” The more Ravig spoke, the more Keith thought of him as a particularly happy volcano that had just up and decided to be a person one day. He gestured toward a corner of the workshop where a few comfortable-looking leather couches were arranged around a low table. Keith and Lance sat, both conscious of the scorch-marks marring the couch closest to the crafting benches. Yiva flitted away as Ravig sat, resembling nothing more than a landslide as he poured himself into his seat. The princess returned with an unnecessarily ornate tray of what Keith assumed was tea. She sat and poured a cup for each of them, serving Master Ravig first. The tea was a warm golden color, but Keith wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t simply because both the pot and the cups they used seemed to be solid gold. It had a sweet floral smell though, and the taste was like honey. Too sweet for Keith, but he took a few sips to be polite anyway.

He didn’t have to look at Lance to know he’d be on his second cup in moments.

“What is this stuff? It’s delicious!” Lance exclaimed. Keith chuckled to himself, and Lance gave him a questioning look. Keith just shook his head. Lance wouldn’t appreciate being called predictable. He couldn’t help smiling, though. Information like whether or not someone had a sweet tooth had never been particularly relevant to him in the past, and the sense of satisfaction the knowledge gave him now was heady. 

“It’s cyarin tea, a favorite of mine. It’s made from the petals of the cyarin flower, along with a generous helping of rock sugar. I have heard from sir Hunk that sugar is a common sweetener on Earth as well.” Yiva explained, still in the weird friendly mood that had overcome her as they’d reached the workshop.

“Wow, I never thought hot flower-water would be delicious, but I guess you never know until you try something, eh?” Lance said jokingly. Yiva giggled, and the sound was cheery as a babbling brook. Keith thought he was probably going to drown in confusion if he paid any more attention to that, so he turned to Ravig.

“So, uh, Master Ravig. What do we do now?” He asked oh-so-smoothly. Lance snorted, and Keith elbowed him in the ribs. Ravig laughed.

“Now, you tell me a little about each other.” Ravig instructed helpfully, still beaming at them both. “Why don’t we start at the beginning, how did you two meet?”

Keith was immediately uncomfortable. Ravig seemed like a genuinely nice man, and Keith really didn’t want to lie to him. If he wanted to know about their fake marriage, Keith wasn’t sure what he would say.

Lance saved him again, as was becoming his custom.

“We met at school. Well, I say that, but Keith doesn’t remember me.” Lance supplied easily, laughing at Keith’s neglect like it was a cute joke. “We were in the same piloting program. Keith was the best pilot in our year, and I was, well, not. I admired him.”

Keith couldn’t help but stare. Lance had just said that like it was completely true, like the whole rivals thing had been the lie from the get-go, and between this and Yiva’s weird behavior Keith’s head was spinning. He wasn’t great at navigating social situations in the first place, and these constant curve-balls were starting to make him nauseous.

Lance continued like he hadn’t just confused the crap out of his fake husband. “We met officially when Shiro crash landed on Earth after escaping Galra capture. We had, er, conflicting plans to rescue him, and we’ve been stuck together ever since!” he laughed. Ravig made a happy rumbling sound.

“Brave heroes indeed. Now, tell me, what about Keith first drew you to him?” Ravig asked delicately, seeming to know that the question was personal but desiring the answer none the less.

Lance blushed, and did not look at Keith at all. Keith wondered how his friend was going to talk his way through this one, when the real answer was that instead of being drawn to him, he’d actually been repulsed. Lance had hardly been able to stay in the same room without making some snide comment for the first several months of their mission, even after they’d bonded just enough to manage forming Voltron.

“I mean, I already told you I admired him for being the best pilot in our year, but the real reason is because Keith is an idiot.” Lance said, seriously. 

“ _What_?” Keith challenged, trying and failing to light Lance on fire with his gaze. He had expected some kind of sugary lie for the sake of their cover, not an insult.

Ravig and Yiva both looked startled. “Oh?” The princess prodded, intrigued.

Lance fiddled with his hands. “Like, for real. He never thinks, he always dives head-first into trouble without a thought for the consequences. He trains more than he probably should. He’s too passionate for the things he cares about, and he causes people problems. In school I’d just thought he was… talented. Heroic. Not like me. Now he’s… human.” Lance’s face was the same color red as Keith’s lion, and he wasn’t sure his own didn’t match. He tried to catch Lance’s eye to give him a proper _what the fuck was that?_ look, but Lance was staring very determinedly into his teacup.

Ravig was laughing like this was the best news he’d heard all year. “Excellent! Excellent. Now, Keith. What was it that drew you to our dear boy Lance?” he asked, voice becoming delicate again.

Keith didn’t know what to say. Lance was infuriating. Lance was as calculable as the rising sun, most of the time. If Keith didn’t outright know what Lance’s preferences and likely actions were, they were generally pretty easy to guess. Then he’d just pull something like this, out of nowhere, and everything Keith thought he knew would be skewed again. Lance was a mystery, and not the kind of puzzle Keith could solve with his hands.

Keith frowned. That sounded bad even in his head.

After a deep centering breath, he spoke.

“Lance is predictable.” He said, still frowning. Lance turned sharply, mouth open, ready to defend himself. He caught sight of Keith’s frown however, and shut up. Keith continued. “Lance is as predictable as a tide chart. He’s predictably loud. He’s predictably annoying. He’s predictably over-enthusiastic.” Lance’s lips puckered out into a pout, and Keith’s frown deepend. “He’s also predictably loyal, and kind, and self-sacrificing.” He sighed. “And he’s also completely _un_ predictable. Every time I think I have a handle on him he surprises me again. Every time I think I know where I stand, he changes the field.”

“A puzzle.” Ravig mused warmly. Keith nodded. “You like puzzles.” It wasn’t a question, and Keith flushed.

“Well, I think I have just the thing for you both. Come, let us take measurements!” Ravig said enthusiastically, rising from his seat like a great wave. Keith and Lance stood slowly, each avoiding the other’s gaze. Yiva moved to stand in front of them, taking each of them by the hand gently.

“Ravig has a way of getting you to say more than you meant to. Do not be embarrassed. He will not use it against you.” She said kindly. Keith met her eyes, once again feeling horribly confused. Smiling sweetly, she took both their hands, and placed them together delicately. Lance seemed afraid, but Keith curled their fingers together, and the taller boy relaxed. Yiva pulled them forward, and they met Ravig at one of his benches, where he’d procured a length of string with tiny marks all over it. With absolutely no sense of ceremony, Ravig took the measurements of each of their fingers, and promptly ushered them out.

“They’ll be ready for you in the morning, I’ll have them delivered post-haste.” Ravig said distractedly, mind already in his project. The boys thanked him, and proceeded to follow Yiva back through the guild hall to the main castle.

“I believe your friends have retired to the leisure pool. If you would like to join them, you will find swimwear in your rooms. It is well past lunch time, so if you are hungry, please let any of the servants know, and they will procure whatever you would like.” Yiva said pleasantly as she dropped them off in front of their quarters. She met Keith’s eye, and finally seemed to take pity on his poor confused soul.

“I am sorry if my manner has caused you any discomfort. You are the first couple of any social importance that I have ever met who have married for love. It is… heartening.” She said softly. “At first I did not believe it was so, and I was offended that you would ally yourself with a member of your own crew who could offer you no additional support instead of myself. But now I see it is true, and I am gladdened. Be well, paladins. I shall see you this evening for tonight’s ball.”

And with that she floated away down the hall.

Keith caught Lance’s eye, finally, and indicated with his head they should go inside the room. Lance agreed with the air of someone about to head to the gallows. As soon as the door shut, Keith exploded.

“What the hell was that about?” He demanded, throwing his hands in the air.

“What do you mean what was that?” Lance shouted back. “I thought you were just pushing yourself to be friendly because Shiro told you to. Now I’m a puzzle and you _like puzzles?_ ”

Keith froze mid retort. “Wait, this whole time you thought I was just… Lance, I told you things I’ve never told anyone today, and no matter how much I respect Shiro I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t…” He cursed quietly to himself. “Anyway, _you’re_ the one who started-”

“Wait a minute, if you didn’t _what_?” Lance demanded, planting himself firmly in front of Keith, cutting off his escape.

Keith groaned loudly. How had he gotten into this mess? This whole friendship thing was way more trouble than he’d ever expected. He ground the heels of his palms into his eyes, and grit his teeth. “If I didn’t _like you_ , Lance. I like this, whole being friends...thing. Okay?” He spat defensively. “You’re funny, and you care when I’m in trouble, and nobody besides Shiro has ever had my back like this before.” Now he couldn’t stop himself, words falling out of his mouth faster than he could catch them. “And yes, you confuse the hell out of me a lot of the time, but I sort of like that too.”

Lance looked completely shocked, and his lack of response had Keith on the verge of hyperventilating. If this is what talking about your goddamn feelings was like, he could understand why no one ever seemed to want to do it. He felt vulnerable, like he’d just handed Lance a knife pointed right at his throat, and now he was simply waiting to see if he’d use it.

Lance turned away, walked over to the bed, and fell onto it face first.

Keith blinked. “...Lance?”

“Ilighbingfrndsoo.” Lance mumbled into the mattress.

“Uh… what was that?” Keith asked, not sure he actually wanted the answer.

Lance turned his head to the side and glared furiously at Keith, who actually took a step back. He wasn’t sure how he’d made Lance so mad, and he wasn’t prepared for it in the slightest.

Then Lance yelled, “I LIKE BEING FRIENDS TOO,” and Keith decided maybe it was best just to sit down.

“I never hated you, I was just jealous because you were good at everything. I like being friends too.” Lance continued, face returned to its position smooshed into the mattress. 

The two boys stayed in silence for a solid minute after that, Lance trying to suffocate himself in the mattress, and Keith sitting on one of their fancy couches, just staring at the ceiling.

 

The minute ended, and Keith stood up, feeling like a computer that had just finished a particularly arduous calculation. “You wanna go to the pool?” he asked flatly.

“...Yeah.” Lance responded pitifully. Keith walked over to the dresser, relieved to find two normal looking pairs of trunks, and flung the blue pair at Lance’s head. Lance peeked an eye out, and Keith grinned.

“Then let’s go to the pool.”


	6. Sunny Day Fugue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MAN. I'm sorry this took so long. This fic is the first thing I've written in like, a hundred years, and I was not prepared to battle writer's block. I made it through though, and chapter seven is already half-written, so I can promise that'll be up much sooner than this one was. XD
> 
> ANYWAY, thanks for reading, your comments make my day, and enjoy!

“This is ridiculous.” Keith said, slightly awestruck. Everything about the palace had been ridiculous so far, but this went above and beyond.

Entering the pool area had been like landing on a completely different planet. They’d been told by the gracious servant that had helped them find the entrance that it was in the rear of the castle and raised up on a low mesa that looked out over the wild desert, ideally placed to feel as secluded as possible while maintaining the best view imaginable. Keith was having a hard time believing that “view” part, since they’d been lost in its cultivated jungle for what felt like eternity. Trees that vaguely resembled the spawn of palms and giant air plants, bushes with huge tropical looking flowers, shade trees with big ferny leaves, and creeping vines lined the winding river-like pool. The carved stone that comprised the pool walls held the same multi-colored hues of the surrounding desert, and the highly detailed geometric designs ubiquitous in the castle’s decoration mixed flawlessly with simply cut natural rock in their construction. Ornamental waterfalls were tucked into cozy nooks at varying intervals along the meandering waterway, and the shallow bottom was ripe with mosaics. The air hung heavy and humid, laced with the sweet scent of ripe fruit and flowers.

Keith looked to Lance, certain he would be ecstatic about the place. At the very least he expected _some_ comment, since Lance’s total inability to be silent was practically a law of physics. The intense scowl the taller boy was leveling at the ground didn’t exactly meet Keith’s expectations.

“Dude, are you ok?” Keith asked, pulling Lance out of the path of a tree he’d been about to walk into. Lance stiffened with surprise, and then relaxed, groaning and shaking his head.

“I’m fine. These colors are all wrong and I’m hungry.” he whined cryptically.

“What’s wrong with the colors?” Keith asked, genuinely confused. He’d been rather enjoying the warm hues, to be honest. After being trapped in the sandy-brown nothing of the Garrison’s desert nearly his whole life, this place was positively vibrant. Colorful in that nice, earthy way that didn’t hurt his eyes. 

Lance fixed him with a grumpy, considering look. Keith just blinked, certain that if he waited, Lance would answer. Laws of physics.

Much to Keith’s relief, after a minute, Lance made another annoyed groaning sound and elaborated. 

“They’re too _pink_.” He threw his arm out, as if the haphazard gesture explained everything. “This place looks like home. Kind of. But instead of white sand and palm trees it’s pink rocks and… whatever these are.” He indicated the surrounding flora lamely. “I don’t even know why I’m comparing them. It’s _not_ home.” Lance scuffed his foot on the soft pink rock and sniffed.

And just like that, everything made sense. Keith couldn’t really empathize. He didn’t have anyone worrying about him on earth, and everything he owned in the world was contained in a literal shack in the middle of nowhere. Probably the only thing he missed about Earth was flying his jet-bike out in the wastes, and maybe some of his books. But frankly, everything had gotten better for Keith after leaving Earth. He had friends, and a home, and a purpose. But Lance was different. Keith had seen, when they joined minds to form Voltron--Lance had a huge family. A family that he probably loved and missed. He probably had places he had fond memories of that he’d like to go back to. Friends he cared about. Lance was _homesick_.

Keith couldn’t empathize, but he understood.

And the last thing he was going to do was let his now Very Official Friend wallow in it.

Affecting a haughty smirk he was positive would rile the other pilot, he looked Lance up and down and scoffed, “You’re awfully pale for a beach bum.”

Lance took the bait instantly. 

“ _Excuse you_ , I’ve been in space for _months_! You give me ten minutes out here in direct sunlight, and we’ll see who’s pale.” His frown turned into a grin as a thought occurred to him, “Oh man, and you’re one to talk! I bet you turn into a lobster like _that_.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

Keith chuckled. “You’re not the only one who’s been stuck in space forever. I can tan.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. You wore a jacket and _boots_ out in the middle of the desert, that pretty skin of yours has probably never even heard of vitamin D.” Lance retorted, fully grinning now.

“Skin can’t _hear_ , Lance.”

Lance made a scandalized sound, and Keith couldn’t keep a straight face as they became embroiled in an argument about whether feeling the vibrations caused to fine hairs by sound counted as “hearing” with your skin. They continued down the path, laughing and teasing (“but sound _is_ vibration!” “That doesn’t matter if the senses receiving them aren’t auditory.”) until finally they rounded a bend and the miraculous view they’d been promised blossomed in front of them. The river opened up into a veritable lake, surrounded by shade trees and lounging furniture on either side, and nothing but the open space of a cliff’s edge ahead.

“Oh wow,” Keith breathed, awestruck. Lance looked equally stunned, and Keith couldn’t help laughing at the dumb expression. Lance smirked and elbowed him in the ribs, which of course led to Keith shoulder-checking Lance in retaliation, and they were just about to dissolve into an all-out wrestle-fight when a loud snort followed by cackling laughter broke the spell.

“Oh look, the lovebirds are back!” Pidge cried from a leaf-shaped floatie she was occupying in the water only a few feet away. 

Keith yelped in surprise, springing away from Lance like he’d been scorched.  
Hunk was hanging onto one edge of Pidge’s leaf, having clearly just paddled it over to this end of the pool, and was struggling not to accidentally drown himself in his laughter.

“Wow you guys are bad at this.” Hunk’s laughter was interrupted when he swallowed some water, but Pidge promptly smacked him on the back, allowing him to cough it up and keep guffawing.

Keith was momentarily stunned with embarrassment. Lance, however, spent no time regretting his childish actions, and immediately backed up to take a running leap at the water.

Pidge blanched when she realized what Lance was doing, waving her arms out in front of her and yelling, “No, Lance, no! Wait-”

But it was too late. Lance positively flew from the pool’s edge, curling into a practiced tight ball-shape as he sailed through the air. He landed right next to Pidge’s floatie, creating a truly gargantuan splash. The two were both thoroughly soaked, and Pidge spluttered pathetically.

“LANCE, now my glasses are wet! Great.” she grumbled loudly, taking off her glasses and looking around for a piece of dry fabric to wipe them on. Keith was secretly pleased the two had received swift retribution for their teasing, but he held out his hand for the glasses magnanimously none the less. He dried them on the soft towel they’d been given at the entrance. Pidge took them back gratefully, sticking her tongue out at Lance, who responded with a highly dignified raspberry.

“So hey, this place is awesome right?” Hunk offered happily, completely unperturbed by his extra-soaked state. 

“It’s all right.” Lance responded in a bored tone, but he looked pretty happy doing an easy backstroke around his floating friends. Keith couldn’t help feeling pleased about it. He’d never actually cheered anybody up on purpose before, and watching Lance swim in lazy circles like he didn’t have a care in the world filled him with a strange sense of accomplishment.

He took a seat on the edge of the pool, kicking his feet and watching his friends mess around in the water. He felt… content, spectating happily and noting with some annoyance that Lance really was already getting darker under the bright alien sun. He seemed to glow almost, like he was Daylight Activated or something similarly preposterous. Light glittered off the water droplets clinging to his unexpectedly nice shoulders, and Keith absently pondered where he’d found muscles like that again. His shoulders were so much broader than expected, and all of him was lean and toned. He was uncomfortably reminded of how easy it had been for Lance to lift him last night while they’d been dancing, and that subconscious urge to touch started creeping over him again.

“So hey,” Pidge brightened, sitting up on her floatie excitedly, “show us your rings!”

Keith felt like he’d just been set on fire. He coughed, trying not to feel like he’d been caught.

“They won’t be done until tomorrow.” He said, doing his best to sound normal.

Lance whirled on Pidge. “I can’t believe you did that to us,” he added, blessedly unaware of the direction Keith’s thoughts had been taking. “You know the craftsman made us tell him how we _met_ and what we _liked_ about each other? It was ridiculous! I may never forgive you.” He complained dramatically. She just cackled, and Keith was pretty sure he was blushing to his ears, which was stupid. 

Keith took a deep breath and told himself he needed to relax.

“You deserved it after that gross display of lovey-doveyness in the lecture. I’ve never seen a grown man bat his eyes like that before, and if I ever see it again I can’t promise I won’t tase you.” Pidge needled Lance, grinning despite her threatening words.

“Well you’d better promise because Hunk loves these luxurious lashes, don’t you Hunk.” Lance addressed his big friend, batting his eyes flirtatiously, causing Hunk to laugh and Pidge to splash him and yell something about “cooties”.

“ _Lance_ , Pidge, please try to keep your splashing to the other side of the pool.” Allura called from a luxurious canopied chaise lounge tucked into the trees nearby. She was sipping a fancy beverage and reading a book, looking more relaxed than Keith had probably ever seen her. Coran and Shiro were sprawled out on the adjacent lounges, both dead asleep. Coran was snoring audibly, and Keith was surprised he hadn’t noticed it straight away. He was also surprised Allura was just… dealing with it.

“Okay _Mom_.” Lance called back. Allura sputtered, choking on her drink. Just like in the lecture earlier, Keith couldn’t stop himself before he was already laughing out loud. Luckily, this time he was joined by both Pidge and Hunk. Even Shiro, who Keith could have sworn was passed out, looked to be chuckling quietly. Lance put his hands behind his head as he floated and grinned, kicking his feet leisurely. 

Allura recovered quickly. “Do you need a flotation device, Lance? I’m concerned you might be too immature to be in the water without parental supervision anyway.” She called sarcastically.

“Oh yeah well, at least I’m brave enough to get in the water! What, are you afraid of a little sunburn?” Lance retorted, and Keith was privately proud he’d managed a comeback somewhat more successful than ‘I’ll throw _you_ in a wormhole!’

“Laaaaance, be nice to the princess.” Shiro called tiredly. Apparently he was awake. Keith almost felt bad--if anyone needed some quality rest out here it was Shiro.

“I mean you realize I’m gonna respond with ‘Okay dad’ here, right. Like, you understand the concept of the joke?” He asked seriously. Shiro waved his arm in a vague “yeah yeah whatever” motion smiling leniently, and everyone erupted in laughter again. Allura narrowed her eyes.

“Shiro, I really need you to take a more active role in parenting our children.” She scolded, completely deadpan.

“What day is it?” Shiro asked groggily.

“By your Earth calendar… Tuesday?” Allura responded, surprised.

“On Tuesdays they’re your kids.” He grinned, and Allura smacked him.

Keith was just starting to relapse into his supremely content feeling from earlier amidst the happy laughter of his companions, when Pidge piped back up.

“So, did the guy tell you what your rings were gonna be like?”

Keith leaned back, determined to stay relaxed, and found it much easier this time.

Lance swam up and spun her leaf, asking, “why are you so interested anyway, since when do you like jewelry?”

Pidge was busy making wobbly noises as she tried to keep her balance, so Hunk responded with, “we met a courtier at lunch that’s got a bunch of jewelry from that guy you went to apparently, and it’s all crazy cool.” Like a good friend, Hunk joined in to help Lance spin the leaf faster. “The earrings she’s got on look like…”

“-Like if you could stick a whole galaxy in a geode.” Pidge interrupted excitedly, wobbling dangerously on her floatie. “And they transform in fractals, they’re _so cool_.”

Keith listened with half an ear. Even having seen some of Ravig’s work in person and knowing how incredible it was, Keith still didn’t really have any interest in jewelry. _Maybe if they were talking about ornamental swords…_ He brushed his hair out of his face, holding it up to let the slight breeze cool the underside. It was getting pretty warm out.

“...That does sound pretty cool.” Lance agreed, oddly quiet. Keith tried to look at Lance subtly to deduce why, only to discover Lance was staring straight at him. A decidedly sly grin crept onto Lance’s face, making Keith feel like he’d been caught in a very dangerous set of cross-hairs. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. 

Hunk and Pidge were still excitedly talking about jewelry, but Keith couldn’t spare the attention to listen. Lance was slowly wading towards him in the pool, still with that strange look on his face, and Keith grew more suspicious the closer the blue paladin got.

“Okay, why are you looking at me like that?” He asked nervously as Lance finally closed the distance.

“Because you look _hot_.” Lance practically purred, leaning in close. Keith felt goosebumps break out over his skin, and heard an odd, strangled noise escape from between his own lips. “Why don’t you _cool off?_ ” Lance’s grin was wicked.

The next thing Keith knew, he was underwater.

 _Oh my god, that motherfucker,_ Keith thought, fighting to find his way back to the surface in the relatively shallow pool.

“You are actually the worst.” Keith gasped upon breaking the surface. Lance was doubled over laughing, obviously pleased with himself.

“Come on babe, you were asking for it!” Lance defended, laughing between each word, looking like breathing might be becoming difficult. Keith flushed again, his pulse racing.

“You can’t just-!” He started, before cutting himself off in realization.

He looked up and finally noticed that his group was not alone at the pool, that several groups of courtiers and servants dotted the large area. The performance was on. Lance absolutely _could just._ He was _supposed to just_. 

Keith felt his stomach twist into knots. This whole fake relationship thing might actually be… more difficult than anticipated. Uncertain about how he was supposed to respond now, he punched Lance in the arm and pouted. He’d been so confident when this started that he’d be perfectly good at pretending to be in a relationship, and now here he was, stumbling at every opportunity. How did flirting even actually _work_? Was he supposed to have some kind of cute retort on hand at all times? How was Lance so good at words, anyway?

That was particularly unfair, considering how legitimately _bad_ at words Lance was regularly.

Keith crossed his arms defensively, realizing he’d waited too long to respond in any sensible manner and unsure how to avoid further embarrassment.

“Hey, I’m sorry bro are you...” Lance began, reaching out as if he intended to comfort Keith, but he trailed off as a shadow fell over him. He had just enough time to yelp a quick “quiznak!” before Hunk had picked him up and physically hurled him into the deep end of the pool.

Startled into laughter, Keith met Hunk’s eye, and was soothed by the warm look he found there. Hunk dropped a heavy hand onto Keith’s shoulder and winked.

“Don’t worry man, I got your back.” He said comfortingly. 

“Thanks Hunk. That was a really impressive throw.” Keith complimented, shading his eyes with his hand to look for where Lance would come up.

But he didn’t come up.

Keith frowned. “Is he… is he dead?”

Hunk hummed a low, contemplative sound. “I mean, that seems unlikely.”

“Oh my god, Hunk, you totally murdered Lance.” Pidge accused dramatically, kicking her leaf over to them with no trace of actual concern.

“Like, he can swim though, right?” Keith asked, even though he’d seen it for himself already.

“Yeah, I mean, dude was on the Garrison swim team.” Hunk replied, starting to sound slightly concerned.

_Oh._ Keith thought back to the pool he had found Lance sitting by back on the ship. _That would explain the shoulders._

Any potentially complimentary thoughts of Lance immediately evaporated as a hideous roar erupted behind the trio with a great splash.

Pidge and Hunk screamed. Keith swore on his pride as a paladin of Voltron that he did not. He did, however, slip on the tile and fall ungracefully back under the water. 

“-man, that was an even better reaction than I get from my siblings!” Lance was howling when Keith found his way back to the surface again. “Well, they are pretty desensitized by now. Seamonster Lance becomes pretty predictable after a few years I guess.” He reminisced happily. 

Hunk was laughing with him now, having already recovered from his surprise. He picked Pidge up helpfully and placed her back on her floatie. “Good one, Lance,” he chuckled, as Pidge spluttered furiously. 

“Oh man, you guys look like wet house cats, who taught you how to swim?” Lance teased, doing a self-satisfied lap backstroke around the group. 

“Your mom.” Pidge coughed bitingly. 

“Impossible, you’d actually be good at this if she had.” Lance replied easily. 

Keith combed his hair back out of his eyes, and pointed an accusing finger at Lance. “All right funny guy, you’re going down.” 

Lance grinned confidently. “Oh yeah? And how do you plan to defeat me in my element, hot stuff?” 

Keith tried not to flush at the pet name while he scanned the area for a satisfactory arena for battle. His eyes landed on what looked like a net, neatly folded next to a basket of what could be volleyballs, and he let out a victorious, “ha!” 

Lance followed Keith’s eye line to the volleyball equipment, then looked back at Keith. “Are you sure buddy?” Lance’s eyes were positively ablaze with competitive fire already, and Keith grinned. 

“Oh yeah. I’m gonna wipe that smug look right off your face. Me and Pidge against you and Hunk.” 

Pidge gave Keith a disparaging look. “Uh, I hate to tell you this but, if you’re trying to get revenge via Tuarikian volleyball, they’re gonna destroy us. Height is kind of a _thing_ in volleyball.” 

Keith just kept grinning, already visualizing his perfect victory. “Shiro! Get over here, we need you!” 

Shiro sighed the long sigh of a martyr, but obliged, slowly peeling himself off his lounge chair and sliding bonelessly into the pool. 

“Well _that’s_ not fair!” Lance groused, folding his arms. 

Shiro did a few stretches and grinned, crossing his arms and looking like a human tank. A very tall human tank. “It’s really not, you guys need another player,” he said honorably. 

Hunk just chuckled before calling out, “Allura! We need a sixth and Keith think’s Shiro’s better than you!” 

Keith blanched. “ _I didn’t mean-_ ” He tried to cover, desperate to rectify his deadly mistake, but it was too late. 

Allura’s book snapped shut. She placed it delicately on the lounge, and rose in one fluid motion. She slipped languidly out of her cover-up and headed toward the pool’s edge, rolling her neck. Making her way daintily over to the selection of volleyballs, she picked one up, and spun it expertly on a fingertip. 

“What are the rules?” 

_________________________________________ 

Keith did not, in fact, wipe that smug look right off Lance’s face. 

The games had started with an obvious lead for Lance’s team. He and Hunk were veterans of the game, and their greater knowledge of strategy let them pick off points from Pidge and Keith easily. Shiro had been--as Keith suspected--a very successful wall, but he couldn’t cover their whole side at once. Allura had taken only moments to catch on, which was awful. She did everything in her power to score points off Shiro, and it turned out there were a great many ways in her power. Lance’s team won the first game by a landslide, with Coran playing an enthusiastic referee under a parasol on the edge of the pool. Keith had demanded a rematch, certain that all his team needed was to warm up, and a crowd of locals began to form. Someone unwisely gave Coran a whistle, and the second game was on. 

The second game was, thankfully for Keith’s pride, nothing like the first. Pidge figured out how to guard the back, and Keith figured out how to get enough traction on the tiled floor to block and spike properly. They were actually ahead by three points when everything went downhill. Having apparently been satisfied by her initial win, Allura began a never-ending series of volleys with Shiro. Lance was forced to steal the ball from his own teammate to score points. Keith however had no intention of just letting them win a second time and started covering Lance excessively, which turned into _another_ endless series of volleys. Their audience always booed whenever a team finally scored a point, loving the hilarious volleys more than any actual successes for either side. 

By the time they’d finally finished that game (a one-point win for Keith’s team, that they’d scored because Hunk hit the ball out-of-bounds), Keith was feeling pretty confident. That had apparently been a mistake. 

Maybe if he’d been taller. Maybe if he’d picked a different challenge. Maybe if he’d _eaten_ in the last seven hours. 

_Maybe if he’d managed to stop getting distracted whenever Lance jumped for a spike._

Alas, he’d done none of those things, and Lance had his victory. 

“That just wasn’t even fair.” Pidge grumbled, flat on her back on her floatie once again. The crowd had broken up, but not before cheering outrageously for Lance and bestowing a crown of tropical flowers on him as congratulations for his victory. Lance had eaten the attention up like it sustained him, preening for the crowd. Keith crossed his arms, happy to sulk with Pidge. 

“We’ll get him next time. There are plenty of things he sucks at back in the castle.” Keith comforted his teammate. 

“Who knew he was so good at volleyball?” Pidge pouted. 

Keith considered Lance from across the pool. He wore his flower crown jauntily, laughing with Hunk over something one of the courtiers had said. The softly setting sun lit him up like a candle, golden and victorious. Keith sighed. 

“He did, apparently.” 

“Well, he must have cheated.” Pidge said finally. Keith broke his stare to meet Pidge’s eyes and grinned. 

“Yeah, that must be it.” 

Pidge grinned back. “We made a pretty good team anyway,” she said, holding out her fist. 

Keith bumped it with his own and leaned back, enjoying the feeling of the gently setting sun on his face as the exhaustion settled in his muscles. His gaze drifted unintentionally back to the other side of the pool, and he tried very hard not to do anything so foolish as to compare Lance with things bronze and god-shaped, laurel adorned as he was. Pidge smiled at him strangely. 

“...What?” He asked, suddenly self-conscious. 

“Eh, it’s just nice seeing you chill out a bit. You were always so tense on the ship, like every minute we weren’t fighting Galra was a minute wasted. I guess it’s true, what they say about shore leave being good for morale.” Pidge said casually, and Keith huffed a tired laugh. 

“Yeah. I guess it is.” 

“And, I mean, every day is a good day for eye-candy, right?” 

Keith slipped on a tile, falling awkwardly into the water. 

_Shit._


	7. Now Get It Right or Pay the Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As an apology for the exceedingly long wait between the last two chapters, here's a bonus almost-double-length chapter for your viewing pleasure. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been following along and commenting, and enjoy!

“I can’t believe they’re doing one of these every night,” Lance said, a little excited despite himself. He was still riding high on his victories of the day. All of his jokes had landed flawlessly, he’d called Keith an idiot and gotten away with it, and he'd topped it off with a glorious win at an actual competitive sport against his rival. He stood in front of the vanity mirror in their room, pulling on his jacket and considering wearing his victory crown from the pool. He hummed to himself, placing it on his head and admiring how it looked in the mirror. He posed a few times, before letting a cynical grin sink in. _Yeah right. You’ve flown high enough today, best not taunt the sun._

They’d returned from their leisure time over an hour ago, when he and Keith had suddenly and painfully remembered they hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Allura had warned them it was “too late to get a snack now and they might as well go get cleaned up and ready for the banquet”, to which both boys forlornly acquiesced. Lance had nearly passed out in the bathtub, the warm stream a little too soothing in his starved and exhausted state. He’d survived somehow, and now they were both rushing to get dressed, equally eager to get to dinner. 

Lance finished doing up the jacket, taking in the final image. Allura had delivered Altean formalwear for the occasion tonight, citing cultural exchange. Lance almost complained--Altea wasn’t his culture after all--but the thought of being stuck in the traditional western Earth-style penguin suit all evening wasn’t particularly appealing either. The Altean suits may have had way too many pieces, but the fabric was soft and light, and the boots he’d been given were as comfortable as his usual sneakers--and it certainly didn’t look bad. He could actually pass for respectable like this. All in all, they were a vast improvement on the sweaty body-cages that were polyester tuxedos and European dress shoes. Lance winked suggestively at his reflection and decided that, _yeah, he could work with this_.

 

Keith did not seem to be appreciating the improvements.

“How does this stupid-” Keith growled, stumbling out from behind the privacy screen for the bathroom and wrestling with the front of his own suit jacket. “Why not zippers? Or buttons? How the heck does this thing _work_?” He cried imploringly. 

Lance took a full thirty seconds to appreciate how exquisitely dumb Keith looked, shirt tails half un-tucked, one boot on, holding the fasteners to his jacket like they were uncooperative snakes and not magnetic buckles. 

“Is this why you always sleep in your clothes on the ship? Are you just _that bad_ at dressing yourself?” Lance laughed giddily, yet another tally-mark added to the ‘Lance’ column on his mental scoreboard. Keith just pouted and held the buckles out to him.

“Can you _please_ just help me with this?” He growled beseechingly, the tips of his ears turning pink with embarrassment.

Lance laughed and agreed, helping Keith tuck his shirt the rest of the way in before doing up the buckles on his jacket. “You should have just stuck with the Tuarikian outfit, much easier to put on,” he joked. The Tuarikian formal wear they’d been offered had been some heavier pants, and a long piece of embroidered fabric that was meant to be draped across the chest and tied at the waist, along with a treasure chest’s worth of heavy golden cuffs and necklaces.

Keith blushed harder, scowling. “Is a whole shirt _really_ too much to ask for?” he demanded sullenly. Lance chuckled.

“Well, as nice as it was staring at your abs all day, this isn’t so bad either.” He said thoughtlessly, stepping back to check that all the pieces of Keith’s suit were in order.

Keith was cutting a dashing figure in red and black, the clean lines and smooth silver accents a pleasingly futuristic compliment to the intricate detailing of the Tuarikian decor. _And heaven forbid they wear anything not appropriately color-coded_. If Lance looked ‘passably respectable,’ Keith might as well have been royalty. Lance had even managed to convince him to put his hair up, and now literally all he’d need was a rapier and a crown to look just like a prince out of a storybook.

“Dude!” Keith protested squeakily, blushing outrageously.

Lance stumbled, only now fully realizing what he’d just said. Honestly, he’d gotten into a groove flirting with Keith all day since they’d had an audience at the pool, and he’d, well, _forgotten_ that he didn’t have to do it in private. It was just so _easy_. He didn’t have any of the issues he had with people he was actually trying to woo when he was flirting with Keith. If he used a particularly bad line, Keith just groaned and laughed. He didn’t scoff and walk away. Lance couldn’t be held responsible for getting a little addicted.

Schooling his features into something a bit more composed, he covered with a nonchalant, “Oh pshh. You know how you look,” and waved a hand dismissively. Then he walked away to find Keith’s missing boot, carefully casual. Keith made a small, distressed sound, but his lack of further argument left Lance fairly confident he’d gotten away with that one. He found the wayward boot, flung haphazardly in a corner. _When had that idiot found the time to fling things across the room anyway? We’ve had these for like, three minutes._ Lance was suddenly wary of ever laying eyes on Keith’s actual room. He picked up the boot and turned back to Keith. “Now put your shoe on and let's get to this party before I literally starve to death.”

Keith looked positively stony, like he was actively trying to keep expressions off his face. “I think I already starved to death. I died, and now I’m in hell, and that’s why I’m being punished with these ridiculous outfits and your ridiculous flirting,” he complained, pulling on his boot and following Lance out the door. 

“Excuse you, my flirting is top-notch, you should be _lucky_ to witness my greatest material.” Lance retorted brightly. If they were joking about it that meant he’d definitely gotten away with it without making anything too weird, and the teasing could recommence. Keith laughed sarcastically, and Lance punched him in the arm. Keith turned that stony expression on him, and Lance grinned. His friend retaliated by kicking him in the shin, and as they devolved into tussling down the corridor like second-graders, Lance couldn’t help but revel in the thought that at least he wasn’t the only five year-old masquerading as a savior of the universe.

He was, however, determined to keep the upper hand he’d somehow magically held all day. Just as they reached the doors to the banquet hall Lance grabbed his (definitely losing) opponent by the hand, and spun the unsuspecting pilot in close so Lance could offer his arm like a proper gentleman.

“Okay, being unexpectedly good at this does not mean you’re good at flirting!” Keith whisper-shouted, flushing handsomely as he accepted Lance’s arm.

“Yes it does.” Lance grinned, immensely satisfied with the heavy pout Keith wore as they entered the hall.

 

The feast was just as insanely decadent as it had been the night before, but Lance enjoyed it twice as thoroughly without Keith glaring down his neck this time. The two of them inhaled food like they hadn’t eaten for weeks instead of merely missing lunch, and Lance was pretty sure he’d never eaten anything so delicious in his life--Nana’s cooking aside. Yiva and a small entourage of courtiers joined them, and Lance had a surprisingly good time regaling the couple seated next to him with tales of their valiant exploits as defenders of the universe. Keith was quiet on his other side at first, but it seemed he couldn’t help interrupting when he thought Lance had missed a crucial detail or over-exaggerated his own efforts, which was fairly often.

“There is no way you fought a monster with a hundred laser eyes.” The lady seated closest to him, Triya, gibed merrily. 

“We didn’t just fight it, we _annihilated_ it! Nothing stands between Voltron and justice.” Lance exclaimed. Keith snorted.

“We hardly annihilated it. We beat it up, abandoned our Lions before properly checking if it was dead, and then the Balmera covered it in crystal and saved our asses when it wasn’t.” He corrected glibly.

Lance side-eyed him, “well, yeah, but _we_ did all the hard work!”

Keith pretended to consider this, and then nodded in agreement. “We did do all the hard work.” Getting comfortable, he put his chin in his palm and rested his elbow on the table. “Well, maybe not _you_.”

Lance gasped at the insult, clutching his heart. “You _wound_ me!” he cried dramatically. “Prepare my grave friends, he cuts me deep. I fear I am not long for this world.” Lance melted over the back of his chair, pretending to bleed to death. “And when you see a giant one-legged robot-man attempting to save the universe, please, hold your laughter and remember me fondly.”

Triya and her husband laughed uproariously, but Lance was oddly distracted from his rapt audience. _Keith_ was laughing happily, and that was officially Lance’s favorite thing to instigate. _Holy cannoli, he really does think I’m funny._ Keith had been laughing at his jokes all _day_. Lance was officially the greatest man alive.

A bell rang near the bandstand, and Lance turned his head to find King Higar standing on the platform, looking as regal as one could while obviously tipsy.

“Tonight, we drink in thanks to each other! It is the cooperation of families that keeps our society firm. We have weathered many battles together and we will weather many more!” The crowd cheered and toasted each other. “We also drink to our heroic guests! Your addition to our castle has delighted us all.” More cheering and toasting. Lance looked to Keith and smiled a little weakly. It was one thing to boast about their exploits at dinner, and it was quite another to be publicly praised by a king in front of his court. Lance couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he didn’t deserve it. “And finally, we drink to my beloved daughter, who sacrifices so much for her people. To Yiva!” King Higar yelled enthusiastically, prompting a tidal wave of applause. 

Lance couldn’t help but notice a few people who were very pointedly _not_ clapping, however. 

“Now, let the dancing commence!” Higar finished, signaling to the band behind him to begin. Lance lept up with the courtiers, completely forgetting to be self-conscious about his own excitement. He’d also forgotten about how unlikely it was that Keith would even _want_ to dance. Yesterday had definitely been an exception to the general Keith rules about being embarrassing in public and engaging in prolonged physical contact. He turned swiftly, prepared to beg (one dance would be enough for Lance to find someone who actually wanted to dance, he was sure--and it would be weird if he didn’t at least _start_ with his fake husband) but Keith was already standing, looking expectant. 

Lance felt a weird tug in his chest.

He shivered and shook the weird feeling off before throwing Keith with his megawatt smile and teasing, “Awww, babe! I didn’t even have to ask.”

Keith hit him with a highly unamused look before turning back to the crowd of dancers and frowning. “This one looks different. Is this one different?” he asked uncertainly as the court paired off. 

Lance glanced around and shrugged, unable to keep a stupid grin off his face. “It’ll be fine.”

Keith walked with him over to their starting position, still-weirdly-perfect brows twisted in a now familiar knot of concern. He didn’t protest though, just trusted Lance not to screw it up.

The thought of Keith--his _rival_ , the paragon of humanity Lance had reached for since the first time he’d heard his name followed by “top pilot” in school--blindly trusting him to be good enough at this for the both of them was making him dizzy. The timid voice of his conscience warned him not to let it get to his head. The sun was drawing much too close.

Lance gripped the shorter boy’s waist gently, moving him into the proper starting pose. Keith squeezed Lance's shoulder reflexively. The tug in Lance’s chest started to twist, and he shook his head, schooling his dumb grin into a more acceptable smirk. He set them off into the crowd, determined not to be Icarus tonight.

“So… your siblings all do this too?” Keith asked conversationally after they’d finished a whole turn of the new dance without screwing up. Lance grinned.

“By now most of them, yeah. Me and Luci were first, obviously, since we’re the oldest. Then Gwen, and Martin should be going this year. Baby Percy obviously has not gone to any dance classes yet, as last time I checked, he was still an actual baby.” Lance listed off his siblings affectionately.

“Wow. That’s… so many.” Keith said, looking stunned.

Lance’s heart did the weird twisty thing again. “Yeah, it was a lot for a while there.”

Keith studied his face for a moment. “You liked it. You don’t seem like the type to enjoy being alone.” He huffed fondly. Lance grinned.

“Sure don’t! I don’t know how you handle that whole lone-wolf thing you’ve got going. I’d lose it and start crying myself to sleep around the third hour,” he joked, a little self-deprecatingly. He was certainly dealing with being relatively alone in space worse than any of the other paladins.

Keith’s face fell, and Lance panicked as he realized his mistake.

“Oh no, is that not… do you not do that on purpose?” he asked, slightly frantic. 

Keith just shrugged, looking carefully nonchalant. “I… don’t really know what else to do. It’s what I’m used to.”

Lance had to physically restrain himself from crushing Keith in a hug. _He was right, I am soft._ He shook his head forcefully, centering his focus. “Look…” he said, waiting for Keith to meet his gaze. “When this is… over, if you’re not completely sick of me, you should…” Lance grit his teeth, cursing his inability to just say what he meant. “We should hang out. Together. If you want. You don’t have to… be by yourself if you don’t want to be.” he grit out finally, holding eye contact despite his embarrassment. He’d implied as much before, of course, with his laughable Best Friend Ever plan, but somehow now the offer felt weightier.

Keith flushed bright red, apparently equally embarrassed. 

“I, uh…” he coughed, stumbling slightly in the dance as Lance lead him through a simple spin.

Every panic alarm in Lance’s head went off at once. “I mean! You totally don’t have to, or anything. You’re an adult--probably? By now? How long have we even been in space--Anyway you can make your own decisions and stuff, I’m sure you’ve got-”

“- _Lance._ ” Keith cut him off, laughing. Lance flushed, flustered again. “I’d like that.” Keith said quietly, and Lance felt warmth flood his system.

“Cool.” he said suavely. 

Keith just laughed.

 

“May I cut in?”

Both of them leapt at the sudden question. Lance whirled them around to face the new speaker, only to find Princess Yiva standing patiently beside them holding out a hand toward Keith. 

Lance recovered as swiftly as he could manage. “Of course Princess.” he replied, nearly laughing with relief. Two was one too many feelings jams for Lance in one day, a little space would do them good. Keith threw him a terrified look, and Lance pet his arm soothingly. “You’ll be fine darling.” He said, trying to sound sincere for Yiva’s sake, though his heart yearned to drench the pet name in affectionate sarcasm. He turned to the princess and bowed with a flourish. “Do be delicate with him Princess, he isn’t sure of the steps to this one yet.” Lance said smoothly, channeling someone with much more composure than he currently possessed. 

Yiva smiled cheekily. “I promise to return him in one piece,” she giggled. As she spun away with his fake husband, Lance exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for the past several minutes. He looked around desperately for Hunk, sure that his friend’s solid grounding presence was all he needed to fix his suddenly irregular heartbeat, but he couldn’t find him with a cursory sweep. He set off for the refreshment tables, certain if Hunk wasn’t there now he would be soon.

Naturally, he didn’t make it to the tables. Karma was coming to collect on his unnatural winning streak. One of the courtiers swept into his path and curtsied, bilious skirts swirling with the movement. She stood, took his hand gently, and kissed it.

“Warrior Lance, I am Kyana of the Garun clan. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” She introduced herself silkily. 

Lance’s mouth fell open stupidly at the sight of her. 

She was _beautiful_. 

Kyana of the Garun was so beautiful Lance’s brain could hardly process it. Her skin was bordering on fluorescent pink, her eyes were caribbean pools, and her hair fell in dark heavy waves down her back, decorated with sparkling gems like stars in an ink black sky. The dress she wore seemed to be 90% sheer and 10% diamonds, with delicate and complicated chains of crystals draped all around her. To Lance, she resembled nothing more than a celestial goddess, descended from heaven to demand Lance’s soul as payment for upsetting the Balance of Things. She looked like the sun, and Lance's wings were melting.

Lance sucked air in bracingly, and bowed with a flourish.

“The pleasure is mine, my lady.” He said, glad at least that his mouth seemed to be working.

“Would you do us the honor of having this dance, my hero?” She requested with a seductive smirk, and Lance felt like he was having an out-of-body experience.

“Uuuuuh,” he responded smartly, words failing him. “Yes? Yes.”

Kyana giggled, and Lance was in love.

The otherworldly being extended a hand, and Lance rushed to take it, praying his own palm wouldn’t be sweaty. Luckily for him, she didn’t seem to care if it was. Lance cleared his throat nervously and gathered Kyana in his arms, somehow managing to set the off into the crowd of dancers as skillfully as usual despite feeling like he suddenly had too many feet, only some of which possibly belonged to him. They made a few turns in tense silence--well, tense for Lance, who felt himself beginning to sweat under the pressure of keeping up a veneer of competence in front of the goddess that was still somehow, magically, in his arms.

“So my hero, tell me about yourself.” Kyana prompted silkily after a particularly complicated set of turns. Lance stumbled slightly and covered it with a cough.

“Um, what do you want to know?” He asked, throat dry.

“Why don’t you tell me what drives you to battle Zarkon?” She smiled encouragingly.

Lance let out a weak laugh, “Went right for the heart, huh?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the sparkling brunette laughed. “I could have lead with asking why you never touch your husband. I thought I was letting you off fairly easily.” Kyana’s sharp turquoise eyes pinned him and he swallowed thickly.

“What kind of--what do you--we were _just_ dancing!” Lance protested, suddenly on guard. “Last time I checked, that involved a fair amount of touching.” Allura had said there was a rumor something wasn’t right with him and Keith that morning. If Kyana was suspicious, he’d have to do something about it.

Kyana smiled placatingly. “Oh yes, the very same amount you are currently lavishing on _me_ ,” she said with a sly smile. “But please, do not think I am concerned with your lack of intimacy. I was just intrigued.” Her eyes gleamed like it was the truth.

Lance took a deep breath and tried to think of a good response as he lifted her and they spun with the other dancers. Curiosity was better than accusation. He could make something up without sounding too defensive, which would certainly tip her off that she was on to something.

They resumed the core steps of the dance, and Lance channeled that false smoothness again. “We were _trying_ to be polite. Public displays of affection aren’t… _classy_ where we’re from.” He said as confidently as he could manage in the moment.

Kyana hummed, “is that so? We are very… public here,” she said, nodding to a nearby dancing couple. The taller of the pair had her face buried in her partner’s neck, placing affectionate kisses along the tendon there, their bodies pressed together like they were one entity. Lance blushed. He’d been so distracted dancing with Keith and his friends last night that he hadn’t taken much time to notice what the people around him were doing outside of making sure he stayed in step. He’d been sort of banking on being able to use propriety as a cover, and now they just looked even more suspicious. He looked across the dancefloor to where Keith and Yiva were dancing and flushed. Even she was standing closer to Keith than Lance had been earlier. 

“Well, I promise to spend less time getting lost in his eyes and more in his mouth.”

Kyana blinked, and Lance’s brain caught up to his giant gaping face-hole.

_Quiznak._

“ _I didn’t mean-_ ” he began, desperate to salvage that phenomenal slip, but Kyana was already laughing.

“Oh my, you Earthlings _are_ quick to embarrass!” she cried gleefully. “But don’t feel pressured to do anything on my account.” Then, impossibly, she pressed in closer to Lance and whispered into his ear with a sultry lilt, “besides, I wouldn’t mind it if you kept your eyes on me a little longer.”

Lance audibly choked.

Kyana stepped back and glittered that cheerful laugh again, causing Lance’s stomach to do flips. “I tease, I tease,” she said reassuringly. “Now seriously Lance, please, tell me more about yourself.”

 

If you asked him later what had happened, Lance would claim bewitchment. Somehow, once he’d started talking to the beautiful woman, he hadn’t been able to stop--by the time he paused for breath, he’d divulged what seemed like his entire life story. Talking to Kyana had been so _easy_. She seemed to genuinely want to know about him, and laughed like wind chimes whenever he said something even remotely funny. She complimented his dancing too, calling him incredibly skilled. The attention was fatally addicting--he’d never held the focus of a beautiful woman for this long--he didn’t want to stop. Realizing however that he’d completely dominated the conversation for the past several minutes, he apologized bashfully.

“I’m sorry, you probably didn’t want to hear all that. What about you? What was it like growing up here?” He asked, genuinely interested. Kyana smiled prettily.

“Oh it was lovely. A few more sharks in the water here than you had on Earth, though, I think.” Her smile soured slightly, and Lance wondered what that could have meant. 

He wasn’t given the opportunity to find out, however, as a rather gruff voice interrupted from behind him.

“ _May I cut in?_

Lance’s eyes widened as Keith stepped into view, his brows twisted in an openly pissed-off knot. An image of soothing the angry furrow with his fingers flashed through Lance’s mind, and he shivered. _That was weird._

“Of course, honored paladin. Thank you for lending me your husband for so long. He’s been _delightful_.” Kyana purred, releasing Lance and stepping aside to offer a deep curtsey. Keith bowed politely, still frowning.

“Lady Garun.” He dismissed her.

“Until next time my hero.” Kyana said farewell to Lance, trailing her fingers down his sleeve as she walked away. Lance tried not to smile too stupidly at the idea of a next time.

When she’d disappeared completely into the crowd with a salacious wink, Lance turned back to his ‘husband’, excited to tell him about how amazing Kyana had been, and figure out what had Keith wearing his very best handsomely-upset face. “How’d you know her name? She was super-” Lance started to ask exuberantly. 

Taking in Keith’s fiery glare, it occurred to Lance that perhaps he’d forgotten something fairly important.

“Apparently she’s a political rival of Yiva’s. Yiva was _concerned_ about how _close_ you two were looking.” Keith explained evenly.

 

He’d been right to worry about flying too close to the sun. This was what falling to your death had to feel like. Two indigo eyes boring into your soul with sheer disappointment.

 

“Keith I-”

Keith didn’t give him the chance to explain. The ever-so-slightly shorter paladin grabbed Lance’s hands roughly, guiding him into the following position for the dance. Keith spun them off into the crowd with a jolt, giving Lance no choice but to trail after. The remarkably strong grip on Lance’s waist brooked no room for argument, and there wasn’t a shred of uncertainty in his movements as he lead them through the complicated steps of the new dance. Lance felt his face heat up uncomfortably, desperately trying not to think too deeply on why Keith taking control with thatcertainly fatal glare etched into his features was making him flush. It was probably just anticipation. Keith was obviously going to tear him to pieces over that display of blatant 'infidelity'--Lance’s pulse was definitely reacting to that.

As Keith lead them skillfully across the crowded, extravagant dance floor, the silence between them stretched like a rubber band ready to snap, and Lance was mortally compelled to ride the tension.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to screw up the mission or anything.” He offered guiltily as Keith maneuvered them closer to the open terrace, well out of the way of the crowd where less people could overhear. Lance had been apologizing an awful lot since this had all started. He prayed that one day he’d stop being such a monumental failure so he would stop needing to. “She was just… really nice. I’m not really used to people that attractive being that interested in what I have to say.” He admitted somewhat dejectedly.

Keith’s frown broke. Lance wondered if he’d just imagined the devastated look that ghosted across his partner’s face, because before he could even blink it was just grumpily exhausted.

“It’s fine. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Keith sighed heavily. He studied Lance’s face for a moment, and Lance tried to look as sincerely apologetic as possible before sneaking in a winning smile to lighten the mood. It worked--Keith smiled weakly, breathing out a laugh that sounded half like a sob. “This whole thing is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

Lance smiled lopsidedly at that. “Is this you admitting that I am clearly the superior husband?”

Keith laughed again, sounding much less distraught. “You were just throwing yourself at the first pretty girl to cross your path in the last five minutes and you’re trying to claim husband superiority? And after I let you win at volleyball.” Keith tsked.

Lance gasped. “You take that back! I beat you fair and square, loser.” He taunted jokingly. Letting a moment of peaceful quiet pass as they drifted rhythmically in the threshold that separated the ballroom from the garden courtyard, Lance took a deep breath. They swayed to a stop in the shadow of a decorative pillar.

“Yeah, you did.” Keith sighed, sounding resigned. He bit his lip, “I think I’m still just nervous about something Yiva said.”

“What was that?” Lance asked carefully, afraid he already knew the answer.

Keith took a deep breath, like he was preparing to go into battle. “Yiva told me not to feel like we couldn’t… be _affectionate_ , in public.” He explained nervously to the floor, avoiding Lance’s gaze entirely.

Lance laughed, only a hint of hysteria tinting the sound. “Yeah.” Lance hummed as reassuringly as possible. “Kyana mentioned we stood out, being so _proper_.”

Keith kept his stare firmly affixed at anything but Lance’s face. He dropped his arms around the taller boy's waist, pulling him close and hiding his face in the space between Lance's neck and shoulder. “Don’t freak out,” he instructed shakily, fingers tangling in the soft fabric of Lance’s jacket. 

Lance was definitely freaking out. 

He was full on panicking, and not for any of the reasons he should have been. He _should_ have been panicking at the prospect of having to touch faces with Keith, like a middle schooler that forgot what auditioning for Romeo in the school play meant. But no, _no_ , Lance was panicking because Keith was _hugging him_ , and Lance was positively _thrilled about it._ When was the last time he’d hugged anyone besides Hunk? Not that Hunk wasn’t great at it. Lance had just been… accustomed, to a certain level of contact back on Earth. Now suddenly, arms full of grumpy fighter pilot, he was struck with _exactly_ how much he’d missed it.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” Keith said haltingly, face still hidden in the crook of Lance’s neck. His voice was gravely with exhaustion or nerves or both, and Lance’s skin prickled with goosebumps.

He gulped. “It’s fine.” he said, trying desperately to sound calm. It _was_ fine. What was a little kiss between friends, anyway? He ran a hand down Keith’s spine, trying to be comforting and not just obviously drunk on the feeling of human contact, even though he absolutely was. All of the right symptoms were present--dizziness, euphoria, lowered inhibitions--he might as well be drinking plastic-bottle tequila. Keith made a frustrated noise and Lance stopped, resting his hands non-threateningly on his friend’s shoulders and trying to get a look at Keith’s face. 

Keith made the noise again with a definite defeated edge and shoved his face further into his hiding place, and Lance laughed, realizing that Keith might actually just be too nervous to go through with this. Well, Lance was inebriated and invincible; he could fix that. 

“Are you worried my sweet skills will put you to shame? I can understand, my elite status as a galactic heartthrob can be incredibly intimidating.” Lance bragged provocatively. “Don’t feel bad, it’s not your fault you just weren’t born with my natural talents. You’re good at _plenty_ of other things darling.” 

Keith’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, and Lance grinned, pleased his ability to be supremely annoying was proving useful for something.

He pressed on. “Really, I’m impressed you got this far. You should be proud of yourself. Of course, I can’t give you full marks, but-”

Keith barked a laugh, lifted his head, and growled, “Oh my god Lance, _shut up_.” 

One hand reached behind Lance’s head to fist in his hair, and Keith dragged him down to his level.

 _Oh._

The kiss was aggressive but simple, just a hard crush of lips with no frills. There was no finesse to it, but even so Lance’s pulse was thrumming at warpspeed. Like someone had flipped a switch in his brain, ‘oh man I really missed human contact’ turned into ’oh man, I _really missed human contact._ All he wanted to do was deepen the kiss, bite at that stubborn jaw, ruin that neat ponytail and bury his hands in Keith’s undoubtedly silken hair. Being a hormonal young adult in space was _hard_. And it wasn’t like he’d been lying in the room earlier, Keith was irrefutably attractive. 

Not that it mattered.

This kiss didn’t _mean_ anything. It was just what they had to do to keep the Tuarikians from thinking there was anything suspicious about their relationship. Touch-starved or not, he had to keep himself in check or he’d freak out Keith, who’d been nervous enough about it without Lance going and making it _weird_.

Keith broke the kiss after what seemed like only a moment, and Lance breathed a laugh. “Well, I guess that’s one way to shut me up.” He said cheekily, unable to contain himself.

Keith flushed scarlet, looking mortified, and released Lance to move away.

Lance’s mind went blank, and stepped forward to close the space instinctively. _Come on Lance, don’t make it weird don’t make it weird don’t make it weird,_ he scolded himself, but his hands seemed to have stopped receiving signals from his brain as they twined around Keith’s hips. “Oh come on, that’s it? Don’t tell me I really am better at this than you, I’ll feel bad for your previous girlfriends. We have to at least make it a _little_ more convincing.” Lance teased, hoping to invoke their rivalry to bring those startlingly soft lips back against his own. It had worked once, and he was fully on autopilot now--Houston had officially lost contact.

And anyway, they were obligated to put on a bit of a show, weren’t they?

Keith stared up at him with a frown/blush combination someplace between flabbergasted and humiliated. “I’ve never _had_ a girlfriend,” Keith groaned like Lance was an idiot, which, granted, he probably was. Lance leaned in, hardly hearing Keith’s exasperated admission. Not even bothering to process the new information, he focused on recapturing the shorter pilot’s lips greedily. 

The second kiss began with none of the aggression the first held. Lance took the lead, moving carefully, delicately encouraging Keith to respond. To Lance’s utter delight, he did--falling against the taller boy and breathing a resigned sigh into the millimeter of space between their parted lips. The moment Keith lost the edge to his tension, Lance pulled him even closer, taking the opportunity to lick tentatively into the raven-haired pilot’s mouth. The startled gasp that action elicited sent a delicious electric zing straight to Lance’s gut, and gave him the opening he’d been hoping for. He moved with unintended hunger against Keith’s surprisingly pliant mouth, dipping his tongue into the wet heat there reverently. He’d never imagined he’d be doing anything like this with _Keith_ of all people, but he couldn’t say he was complaining, either. Keith’s lips were soft, he tasted like the exotic deserts they’d had at dinner, and the almost combative way he moved against Lance as they picked up the pace was different and a little exciting. The combination was working way better than he could have expected.

Lance gripped the base of Keith’s skull and tilted his head for a better angle. Keith made an appreciative noise low in his throat, sending a thrill straight up Lance’s spine. Keith surged against him, wrestling the lead away from him again, and Lance complied bonelessly as the fiery pilot backed him up against the nearby pillar. Keith’s hands on him felt molten, and Lance positively melted under the attention. The tiny voice belonging to his conscience warned him that this was probably more intense than necessary, that maybe invoking Keith’s competitive nature had been a poor choice--But as Keith sucked Lance’s lower lip in between his teeth and _bit_ , Lance decided those were all problems for Future Lance.

 

“Hey, guys!”

 

At the sound of Hunk rapidly approaching, Keith sprang away. Lance reached out quickly and grabbed him by the wrist, forcing him to stay close. “Dude, that looks so suspicious, just stay here.” Lance said in a rushed whisper, tucking the startled pilot into his side. Hunk jogged up with an eyebrow raised at their closeness, but shrugged without asking questions.

“Hey, I wanted to let you guys know Pidge and I are out, apparently she got a pretty bad sunburn at the pool today so I’m gonna go try and find something aloe-y to help.” Hunk let them know cheerily, blessedly oblivious.

“Why didn’t she wear sunscreen? She’s almost as pale as this pasty noodle.” Lance teased, nudging Keith with his shoulder. The considerably fairer pilot glared, arms folded.

“ _I_ didn’t burn. I told you I could tan.” Keith pouted grumpily. Lance chuckled.

“I’ll believe it when I see it Snow White.”

“You guys are so gross.” Hunk chuckled affectionately. Keith blushed furiously, and Lance coughed. “Anyway, I’m out, see you guys at breakfast!” he waved, trotting out of the hall.

As soon as Hunk was out of sight, they let out twin sighs, both leaning heavily into the pillar at their backs. One of the pieces of ornate decoration on it stabbed Lance squarely in his shoulder blade, and his throat tightened as the entirety of what he’d just been doing hit him like a sack of bricks.

“...Sorry.” He said uselessly, unsure of what else he could possibly say.

Keith frowned, looking at him sideways with obvious confusion. “...You’re not mad?”

“What?” Lance responded dumbly. Keith thought _he_ was supposed to be mad? Lance was starting to worry that maybe he’d just hallucinated the whole thing. This day _had_ been better than was logically possible. Maybe he’d been sleepwalking. Not that he’d ever done it before, but that was the sort of thing that could just happen spontaneously, wasn’t it?

Lance shook his head, trying to physically force it back to a normal thought process. “I’m pretty sure I was the one that baited you?” He said apologetically.

Keith’s frown deepened, and he searched Lance’s face intently. Lance shifted uncomfortably, but luckily his fierce-eyed friend gave up quickly, pushing away from the pillar with a huff. “You’re not even a little uncomfortable with what just happened?”

Lance wasn’t sure how to answer that one.

On the one hand, yes, he was _very_ uncomfortable with what just happened. But it was mostly because all he wanted to do was do it again. His eyes dipped to Keith’s slightly bruised lips, and he grinned nervously with an awkward shrug, praying that would be enough of an answer. 

Keith just stared at him like he was contemplating his next move in a particularly difficult game of chess. Lance did his best to look innocent. If Keith thought _he’d_ done something wrong, maybe that meant they’d just _both_ accidentally made it weird, which would void the weirdness entirely, and then maybe Lance would get to kiss him again at some point. For, you know, political reasons. 

Keith shook his head and exhaled a low laugh. “Can we just go to bed? Leaving early together will look good to the Tuarikians and I’m… _tired._ ”

Lance nodded, doing his best to smile winningly, faltering slightly when he realized their performance couldn’t be done with quite yet. 

“Um.” He said, reaching out for Keith’s hand and pulling the shorter boy closer to him again. Keith looked shocked, and Lance explained as quickly as he could. “You’ve been frowning for a while. If we want this to look right, you should try and pretend like you like me for a second.”

He’d tried to sound teasing, like the whole situation was just a silly joke, but he knew his ulterior motives had simply manifested themselves again when he found his hand reaching up and smoothing out the furrow in Keith’s brow--exactly like he’d imagined doing earlier. At least it seemed to work. Keith snorted, closing his eyes and burying his face in Lance’s chest. When he brought his gaze back up to meet Lance’s, he was smiling warmly, and even though Lance knew it was acting, he felt his whole body relax. Something about Keith smiling was just… good.

“Kiss me one more time and let’s go.” Keith said quietly, leaning forward to touch their foreheads together.

Lance didn’t have to be told twice. Not even believing his luck, he took Keith’s face in his hands and peppered kisses all over it, making Keith laugh and start to push him away. Lance didn’t let him go, pulling him back in and kissing him for real one last time. He moved softly, carefully, slowly, watching with satisfaction as Keith’s eyes fluttered back open when he finally pulled away. This really was one of the few things Lance was good at.

Keith tucked himself back into Lance’s side as they made their way to the gardens in the direction of their room. Lance didn’t want to press his luck any further than he already had tonight, but he couldn’t help curling an arm around the shorter boy as they walked. Keith leaned up to kiss him on the temple as they exited the crowded area, and even though Lance knew he’d done it for show, he felt the last of the weight in his chest dissipate.

 

The peaceful atmosphere evaporated the moment they made it back to their room.

 

Lance stared at the huge, extravagant, _singular_ bed, and the bed stared back.

 

There was no way either of them could possibly be comfortable sharing that after the show they’d put on in the ballroom. There was team bonding and then there was _team bonding_ , and as much as Lance was fully enjoying the being friends and making-out portions of his real and fake relationships with Keith, this was stepping over the line. Mostly because he knew he couldn’t trust his unconscious self as far as he could throw Hunk.

Lance was a _notorious_ cuddler, as anyone paying attention to anything that had happened this evening could guess, and as all of his siblings could attest. None of them wanted to share a tent with him when they went camping after they’d reached a certain age because they’d always somehow wake up in a too-warm, highly-uncomfortable pile of limbs with Lance guilty at the center. It was one thing forcing your siblings (who ostensibly loved you) into snuggle piles, and it was another entirely forcing your fake husband (who seemed pretty anti-physical-contact in general, whom you had already overstepped boundaries with) into a line-blurring cuddlefest.

Lance headed for the bathroom to get ready for bed, and crossed his fingers that staying as far away as possible would be good enough to save Keith from further torment.

 

Keith didn’t say anything as he changed out of his fancy suit into a soft pair of shorts and a tanktop the servants had left, and when Lance relinquished the bathroom to him and crawled into the bed, he just nodded gratefully. When Keith finally finished and crawled into the bed on the other side, Lance hugged the edge of the mattress and promptly started to sweat. Sleep was generally a challenge for Lance, and now his mind was running a million miles a minute worrying about everything from whether Keith had enough blankets to how likely it was that a meteor would just crash through the ceiling right at this moment and just _end_ him. He didn’t have his eye mask, his headphones, or the excessive exhaustion generally required to get to sleep, and Keith’s lack of any sort of comment at _all_ since they’d returned was enough all on it’s own to drive Lance into a bout of nervous insomnia. 

The tension in the air was palpable. Lance shifted under the unusually noisy sheets. He had to make a joke. He had to do something--anything. The edge of his sanity loomed near.

He was just about to open his mouth when Keith spoke.

“Why are fancy beds always this big?” He asked, sounding annoyed.

Lance laughed with audible relief, exceedingly grateful for the simple question. “You wanted it to be smaller?”

Keith turned over in a huff, gesturing broadly at the bed’s considerable surface area. “There’s so much space! It’s completely indefensible.”

Lance rolled over to face the disgruntled pilot and laughed harder. “Keith you’re not supposed to have to defend a bed. Especially not when you’re a fancy rich person. They all have guards outside their rooms for that sort of thing.”

“Alright, now that’s just negligence. _Especially_ if you’re a fancy rich person. Fancy rich people always have enemies. What are they supposed to do if someone bribes a guard? Pray they finally make a breakthrough with their psychic shield training?” Keith asked seriously. 

The laugh that ripped out of Lance was enormous.

“Oh my god, that was a joke, you just made a real joke.” He breathed through his laughter with extreme difficulty. Keith smirked, and Lance’s laughter swiftly turned into a choked cough. “Ahem. Anyway, if you’re really uncomfortable, I usually try to stick to the edge. It makes it feel like maybe there are borders and you’re not just in the middle of nothing.” Lance advised sagely. Sticking to the edges had the added benefit of keeping Keith as far away from him as he could get, too. Maybe that would be enough to protect him from Lance’s long reaching limbs.

Keith smiled, looking strikingly serene in the cool moonlight filtering through from the balcony. “Thanks. I’ll try that,” he said, rolling back over onto his side and curling up on the edge of the mattress. “Good night, Lance.”

Lance sighed, adrenaline fading from his system. Smiling a little to himself, he rolled over to face his own mattress edge. “G’night, Keith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fanart for chapter 7 from one of my absolute favorite humans, [extrabonusfanart](http://extrabonusfanart.tumblr.com/post/154796729261/some-fan-art-for-the-wonderfully-well-written-fic), I love you forever, my precious beeb.


	8. Battle at Tournament High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the ridiculously slow updates friends, but thank you all so much for your continued support! Every time I get a new comment my little heart explodes with happiness. You're all the best!

Lance woke up warm. 

 

Soft light crept in cool hues across the floor, streaking languidly across his face. The gentle zephyr slipping in from the balcony still held the faint chill of the desert night, and felt wonderfully pleasant against the exposed skin on his face and arms. The air was perfumed with the fragrance of night blooms yet to close and melting frost, crisp and sweet. He was comfortable in a way he hadn't been for ages, nostalgic images of waking up safe in his bed in his parents’ house floating blissfully behind his eyes.

Lance sighed contentedly, and the all-encompassing warmth surrounding him shifted.

Realization dawned slowly. The grounding weight across his hips resolved itself into an arm. The gentle breeze at the back of his neck into soft, even breaths. A firm chest against his back. The warm tangle of legs.

Lance opened his eyes cautiously, and the sight of his edge of the bed and the far wall greeted him unexpectedly. Lance hadn’t moved in the night. He’d held firm to his position as far away as possible. He hadn’t screwed up.

 

And yet.

 

Keith let out a soft groan behind him, and the skin on Lance’s neck prickled. He froze, his brain stuck in a repeating loop. He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t moved. He’d been so determined. 

 

_And yet._

 

Lance exhaled a pathetic whine into the idyllic morning air. He blinked into the steadily strengthening light, and considered his options. On the one hand, he should try to slip out of the bed quickly, before Keith woke up and either of them could get _really_ embarrassed. On the other hand…

He was so comfortable.

Lance felt his eyelids grow heavy as the will to rectify their positioning dissolved from his sleep-laden limbs. It was too early to worry. Keith’s arm tightened reflexively around his waist, another delicate sound involuntarily escaping his lips. Lance sighed tiredly, sleep creeping in to claim him again. Just another problem for Future Lance.

 

 

 

 

“Good morning Sirs!” 

Lance very nearly leapt out of his skin.

The same servant woman from the day before bustled in cheerfully, placing fresh clothing out for them. “Breakfast is served, and her highness wishes that you attend promptly.” She practically cooed. “Do you require anything at present?” She asked.

 _Well, I guess our little performance last night worked._ Lance thought with limited relief. He coughed. “Uh, no, thank you. We’ll be down soon,” he responded, voice tight. Keith was a human ice-sculpture at his back.

“Very well! If you’ll excuse me,” the servant curtsied her way back out the door. Lance exhaled deeply as the door closed behind her. 

The instant they were alone, Keith practically teleported away from him.

Lance sat up slowly, scrubbing his hands down his face, not particularly surprised at his friend’s reaction, but less than thrilled about it regardless.

“I-I’m sorry, I-” Keith stammered in an obvious panic.

Lance took a moment, brain snagged on the details of Keith’s disheveled hair and how it still somehow managed to fall flatteringly, and sighed. This was dumb. He’d spent all night making sure he hadn’t invaded Keith’s personal space, and now Keith was panicking anyway. Lance didn’t have personal space. If Keith’s subconscious wanted to snuggle, Lance was all for it. If Keith’s _regular_ conscious wanted to snuggle Lance was for it. Making an executive decision, Lance turned and—effectively cutting off Keith’s semi-hysterical apologies—flopped on top of him with a soft “oof”.

Keith was tense as a steel rod, pinned completely underneath Lance’s lanky body and unable to escape. Keith’s mouth moved uselessly for a moment, like his mind had been wiped of every word he knew, before he finally managed to produce sound. “What are you-”

“-Shutting you up.” Lance interrupted drowsily, cheek resting comfortably on Keith’s chest, limbs sprawled akimbo. Keith was surprisingly comfortable, for a pile of bones wrapped in lean muscle. Lance had honestly expected quite a few stabby corners, and was pleased not to find any. Lance knew that personally he was all sharp points and awkward bony pieces, but that was Keith’s problem now. Slowly, Keith’s pitched breathing evened out, and after a few more silent moments full of nothing but Lance’s own easy inhales, he relaxed.

“Ok, ok. I get it, touching is ok.” Keith sighed, sounding strained.

“Yup.” Lance said shortly.

Keith squirmed underneath him. “Are you gonna let me up?”

The unexpected friction caused Lance’s nerves to catch _fire_ , and the realization that he had a barely-clothed, highly-attractive human pinned beneath him hit him like a frieght train. A small, involuntary noise escaped him. Warning klaxons sounded in his skull. The words ‘ _Abort, abort, abort!_ ’ flashed in giant neon letters behind his eyes. 

Moving with a speed born of the purest panic, Lance shot up and out of the bed like _he’d_ learned to teleport.

“Yup.” He coughed, striding out to the balcony.

 

Lance leaned heavily on the railing, taking long breaths of the fragrant garden air and forcing his heartbeat to even out. “Sweet mother of quiznak.” he whispered frantically to himself, hands fisting in his hair as he rested his weight on his elbows. He stared into the empty air in front of him in quiet supplication, as if the void could answer the questions Lance was afraid to ask.

He snuck a furtive glance back to where Keith was crawling unhurriedly out of bed; running a hand through his impossibly cute bedhead and yawning widely. Lance turned back to the courtyard so fast his neck popped.

This was just completely unfair.

He counted petals on the purple blooms growing along the creeping vines on the wall, and tried not to listen to Keith shuffling around the bedroom. The sky shrugged off the last of it’s early morning darkness, emerging bright and blue and cloudless. The fountain twinkled cheerfully in the courtyard below. Lance kept breathing.

Being cosmically lonely sure was doing weird things to his heart.

“Uh, Lance?” Keith called, and Lance turned, eyebrow raised in question. A soft blush rested on Keith’s cheeks, and Lance’s pulse throbbed annoyingly. _For crying out loud, get your shit together_ , Lance cursed internally. Keith raised two envelopes for him to see. “I think our rings are done.”

Lance’s stomach lurched.

He walked back to where Keith stood at the dresser obediently, as if he were the giant robot and his subconscious the unwitting pilot at the helm. Accepting the envelope with his name scrawled across it in a huge, intense-looking script that could only belong to Ravig, Lance took a deep breath, and unceremoniously ripped open the top. 

He tipped the ring out onto his palm, not sure what to expect, and gasped.

Suddenly the excitement Pidge and Hunk had expressed the day before made total sense. Lance held the ring up carefully, absolutely awestruck. It was made entirely of that clear crystal that resembled diamond so closely, with an inner band of red gemstones that sparkled like flames in the sunlight. They seemed to crackle, like the stones were actually ablaze, burning wildly in their crystal encasement. The volcanic red of the gems was beautiful, and the rainbow prism effect the almost-diamond shone with was nearly too stunning. Lance slipped it on his ring finger hesitantly, somehow sure it couldn’t possibly fit, couldn’t have been made for him. Of course, it was perfectly sized, and Lance gulped uncomfortably at how much he liked the look of it on his hand. The tiny conflagration seemed like it had always been meant to sit there against his skin, like a piece of him he hadn’t realized he’d lost until that moment.

Lance looked up to Keith, suddenly intensely curious about the other ring.

Keith was holding it up to the light still, entranced. His ring was blue, but to call it just _blue_ would be a travesty. It changed hue from the deep indigo of an ocean trench to the bright cerulean of caribbean shallows, and it sparkled with light refractions that clearly mimicked the nebulous dance of sunlight underwater. The strange shapes moved constantly under the clear crystal surface with the undeniable impression of a tide, churning ceaselessly. Next to Lance’s own ring, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“Ha ha, now we’ve got matching friendship jewelry like a couple of eleven year-old girls, this is awesome.” Lance joked, holding up his hand and wiggling his fingers flashily. Keith coughed a surprised laugh.

“Are we ‘BFs’ forever now?” he asked, tongue tripping over the acronym. 

“Oh my god Keith it’s ‘BFFs’, what am I even going to _do_ with you, you’re hopeless,” Lance yelled, throwing his hands in the air and turning away as if to shun his still-chuckling friend. _BFs, you’d think he dropped out of middle school!_. Lance looked back out of the corner of his eye and deflated a little at the amused smile painting his friend’s well-proportioned face. Lance couldn’t help but think that the universe was exceptionally unfair.

Keith slipped his ring on finally, and cleared his throat. “Come on, we should get going,” he prompted with an unsteady air, turning away with an armful of clothes to change behind the divider. Lance dressed quickly, washing his face vigorously and trying not to think about _anything_. Being Lance, that was completely impossible, but god, hadn’t he _hated_ the mullet-y jerk only a few days ago? What a fickle heart he possessed. Keith paced impatiently by the door and Lance stuck his tongue out cheekily as he finished getting ready. Once he was fully dressed he jogged into the foyer to join Keith and get going, but had to stop once he got a good look at the other pilot.

They’d given Keith another crop top, this one barely more than a crisscrossing of fabric across his chest, and Lance could not help himself. He laughed so hard he actually had to brace himself on his knees to keep from physically falling over. 

Keith blushed furiously. “It’s _not funny_ ,” he defended vehemently, eyes looking hot enough to burn, and Lance used one hand to brace himself against the wall as he gasped for air through his laughter. 

Keith deflated. “Okay, you’re right, it’s fucking hilarious, can we go now?” he asked flatly, one hand on the doorknob. Lance hiccuped severely, and Keith’s face split in an unintended grin. “Dude, get it together.” He chuckled as Lance gasped for breath. Lance moved from the wall to Keith’s shoulder, using it to hold himself up as he got his laughter and the hiccups that followed under control. Keith shook his head in defeat, chuckling low as he watched Lance breathe very carefully. Lance finally got himself composed, and, putting a confident arm around Keith’s very bare waist, they strode out to the dining hall together.

The rest of their team was already assembled in the dining hall when they finally made it in. Pidge and Shiro were chatting animatedly about some weird animal they’d run across in the courtyard on the way to breakfast that morning. Hunk was giving Allura a very detailed description of his favorite dessert from the night before, that Allura had apparently (tragically) missed. Their arrival was greeted with the expected enthusiasm, with Hunk and Pidge wasting no time asking after their rings. Lance let Hunk hold his limp arm up to the sun without complaint, feeling oddly pleased with the attention. 

“Is it _hot_?” Hunk demanded, watching it burn in the sunlight. Lance laughed, abs sore from all the laughing he’d already done that morning.

“Of course it’s not _hot_ , it’s made out of gemstones, not magic!” He teased his big friend affectionately, and Hunk babbled a lot of very complicated questions Lance could only shrug at. Eventually, Hunk traded him off to Pidge, who was practically screaming about the physics involved in getting such a level of animation from the simple combination of light and faceting. Lance caught Keith’s eyes and laughed, neither of them able to keep up with their very smart friends’ very excited ranting. Lance shoveled breakfast into his face with his free hand and tried to keep up with the conversation, though most of his attention was being stolen by the sight of Hunk turning Keith’s very well-formed wrist in the air energetically.

When Princess Yiva finally floated into the dining hall, Lance was grateful for the excuse to finally put his own arm down.

“Good morning honored warriors of Voltron!” She greeted them warmly. As she got closer and noticed Keith and Lance’s new adornments, her eyes lit up. “I see Ravig has delivered his gifts! May I see them?” She asked, trying to contain her excitement, but Lance could see it was difficult for her. He sighed, holding out his hand obediently, and smiled as Keith did the same. Yiva took both their hands in her own, and as her smile melted into something truly soft and affectionate, Lance felt his chest constrict. “Do you like them?” she asked hopefully, and Lance responded immediately.

“We love them,” he said thickly, and blushed as he realized Keith had said the same thing simultaneously. “They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.” He continued quietly, completely serious.

Yiva smiled like he’d just given her a gift, and Lance’s stomach flipped.

“I will be sure to pass this praise on to Ravig, he will be glad to hear it.” Yiva said quietly, and then perked up, addressing the entire team once more. “Paladins! It is my father’s wish that today we host a small tournament. You are all welcome to observe or participate in whichever events strike your fancy,” she announced with enthusiasm. “I have brought you a list of games, I hope you find some appealing!” She placed a list on the table in front of Allura, and the team crowded around to see.

“A tournament! How delightful.” Allura exclaimed joyously. “We shall certainly participate.”

“Wonderful!” Yiva curtsied. “Please, join us in the amphitheater in two bells—we await your performances with bated breath.” She said with real anticipation. 

_________________________________

 

Keith tried not to pace too obviously as they crowded in the participant tents that had been set up on the far end of the broad amphitheater. He, Lance, and Pidge were supporting Hunk, who was in the first event the crew would be joining. He’d signed up for something that was essentially shot put, jabbering animatedly about the science involved in chucking something really, really far. Lance had made several jokes making fun of how far Hunk could chuck things, all of which ended up sounding like compliments if you looked at them too closely. Pidge was doing rapid calculations on a pocket computing device, trying to give Hunk last-minute pointers based on wind-speed and ground-friction or some other highly technical parameters. Keith had just clapped him on the shoulder and wished him luck. He’d seen Hunk throw Lance across a pool—he figured whatever Hunk did would be fairly impressive, and he wasn’t concerned.

Not about that, at least.

Keith was becoming _very concerned_ with himself, in relation to the tall, flirtatious _monster_ he’d been fake-wed to. Keith watched his fake-husband’s eyes sparkle with mirth as he continued jesting for Hunk’s benefit, and the ring on his left hand felt heavy. If Keith had to live through another morning like this one without the excuse of panic to hide behind, he wasn’t sure what he would do. This whole situation was so far outside his realm of experience, the very thought of their next night was making him dizzy.

Keith squinted at the blue-eyed demon laughing merrily at his side. If only he’d let it stay awkward. If only he’d let Keith stay ignorant to the joys of human contact entirely.

Keith was pulled out of his brooding by an announcer calling the start of the event.

“Alright buddy! You’ve got this!” Lance said enthusiastically, squeezing Hunk as tightly as he could and making the large man laugh breathlessly.

“Okay, okay, you guys go get to the stands, apparently I’ve got this!” Hunk shooed them away, sounding more confident that Keith would have expected considering Hunk’s general anxiety. Maybe it was the fact that the tournament was entirely for entertainment that eased the big man’s usual nervousness. The winner would receive nothing more than a kiss from Yiva for their victory, a prize none of the paladins were particularly interested in, aside from maybe Lance. The thought soured his expression, and his eyes drifted helplessly over the blue pilot’s sharp features.

Keith tried to look calm and happy as he caught Lance’s hand on their way out of the participant tents—tried not to let the irrational bout of possessiveness he was feeling show on his face. Lance smiled back at him, and Keith forced himself to act normal. This was all _fine_. He was not growing upsettingly accustomed to the comforting weight of Lance’s hand in his own. He had not memorized the placement of a particularly soft scar in the crook of Lance’s thumb. His standing appreciation for the contrast Lance’s skin made against his own was purely objective. He could handle existing next to this. And if Lance wanted to kiss beautiful alien princesses well, that was his prerogative.

Everything was fine.

 

They climbed the massive amphitheater steps until they found Coran, who had claimed seats in a row near the front for them, where they’d still have a good view of Hunk and the field. Allura and Shiro were up in the box reserved for royalty and guests, observing with Yiva and her father. Shiro had tried to enter the tournament in hand-to-hand combat, claiming it was his responsibility as a guest and their leader to enter the competition, but to Keith’s great relief everyone had shot down the idea immediately. The last thing Shiro needed was to get stressed out remembering his time as a captive gladiator for _literally no reason._ Keith looked up to see how their fearless leader was doing, and was pleased to discover him sipping some kind of fancy beverage and holding what looked like pleasant conversation with the princesses. Keith shuffled in down the row after Pidge, head filled with more annoying feelings concerning other humans than he knew what to do with. Shiro he was used to worrying about—was _excessively practiced_ in worrying about.

Lance, and the awkward feelings that came with him—not so much.

The taller pilot sat down next to him, opening his mouth to make some sort of comment—about Shiro getting to sit with the princesses, Keith was sure. He never got to expel his undoubtedly unfortunate jibe however, as Pidge smoothly cut him off.

“I bet he throws it 10 meters or further.” She said, sitting forward, glasses glinting sinisterly in the sunlight. Keith couldn’t help grinning.

“I bet 10 meters or lower then!” Lance called quickly, his own grin full of self-assuredness.

“You’re betting against your best friend? Cold, man.” Pidge teased, making Lance’s satisfied grin wobble.

“I—He’ll forgive me.”

Keith sat back and laughed. “Alright, I bet he throws it at least a meter farther than anybody else.”

“What’s this now, are we gambling?” Coran asked, interest piqued.

“In a manner of speaking. Just say something you think will happen during Hunk’s match. If you’re right… winners get a favor from the losers?” Pidge suggested, looking undeniably evil, and Keith sighed, realizing she’d won before anyone had even had a chance.

“Sounds good to me.” He agreed graciously, hoping against hope her real goal was just to humiliate Lance, and he’d personally survive whatever kind of punishment game she’d dreamed up. With that grin, he was certain it involved humiliation. The all-too-pleased look she threw his way was not encouraging.

“I bet Hunk makes us all very proud!” Coran declared, standing up in his excitement.

“Is that cheating? I think that’s cheating.” Lance protested, crossing his arms. Pidge just shrugged.

“He followed the rules.”

“You suckers are going down.” Lance declared spitefully, and Keith laughed again.

The thought that he wasn’t sure he’d ever laughed so often in his life as he had on this mission drifted unbidden through Keith’s skull. Lance shuffled forward in his seat with nervous anticipation as Hunk took the field, and Keith felt oddly… fond. He had to fight to keep the weird, lopsided smile that wanted to take over his face in check, and he was more than a little afraid he’d failed to do it before Pidge caught it. She was cackling quietly to herself, and Keith’s hope that he would be spared from torment shrank.

“Come on Hunk! Throw that thing _just far enough!_ ” Lance shouted encouragingly, eliciting a pitying chuckle from his betting opponents.

Hunk waved at them from the field, and the event began. One by one the competitors approached the line, lifted their unidentifiable objects, and hurled them as far as physically possible. The Tuarikians were impressive, but it became quickly apparent that none of them had the true power-house stature of Hunk. Strategy, training, and sheer determination all failed in the face of a boy who could casually throw a person across a pool. 

Lance groaned vociferously at his friend’s phenomenal success. Keith laughed louder than he should have, considering he’d also lost his bet. Hunk had thrown his object 12.3 meters, and the second place winner had thrown his 11.4, condemning Keith to join in whatever punishment Pidge had planned for them. Coran whooped exuberantly as he ‘won’, sharing a victorious high five with the shortest paladin.

“Remind me never to take Lance to a Qarien quadruped race.” Coran whispered conspiratorially. Keith snorted, laughing quietly as Coran’s deception became clear. Lance missed the slight entirely, too busy fake-crying at Hunk’s inability to telepathically know he needed him to throw the event. Keith pet his shoulder comfortingly and made soothing noises as Lance hiccuped. Lance leaned into his side in his ‘hysterics’, and Keith was pleased that he just felt kind of warm and happy at the contact. This was fine. This was… exceedingly _fine_.

The announcer called something unintelligible over the PA, and Pidge hopped up excitedly. “Ooh my event! Come on come on you gotta come watch me ruin some lives.” She grabbed Keith by the arm, dragging him out of his seat.

“Oh, I’ve got to see this!” Coran exclaimed, hopping up to follow. “Lance, do you mind saving our seats for us?” he asked.

Keith started to protest, but Pidge would not let go of his arm, and he figured he should probably submit to her whims if he wanted her to go easy on him when the time for her to exact her ‘favors’ came. Lance waved them off happily, crocodile tears completely evaporated, looking again like he was made for catching sunlight, and Keith firmly ignored the obvious skip in his heartbeat.

 

Everything was _fine_.

 

___________________________________

 

“Sir Lance!”

Lance jumped at the unexpected, musical sound of a familiar voice. He turned in his seat to find Lady Kyana ascending the stairs, clad in a seafoam dream of a dress that evoked such a feeling of movement, Lance could have mistaken her for an errant wave. He leapt up and bowed politely, more than a little amazed to see the lady again.

“Lady Kyana! How exquisitely lovely to see you today.” He said winningly, taking her offered hand and kissing the knuckles expertly. He’d watched enough movies to know exactly how a proper hand-kiss was done. Kyana blushed prettily, and something inside Lance swelled.

“Are you alone, good sir? Would you mind some company?” she asked, smiling hopefully.

Lance immediately gestured for her to sit, moving back to his claimed spot on the bench. Kyana sat like a cloud settling on a hill, and Lance had to snap his mouth shut.

“Have you been enjoying the festivities?” She asked politely, sitting much closer than Lance had been prepared to handle.

“I-um-yes!” He stumbled, still trying to get his jaw back under control. “Yes. My friend Hunk just won the… That throwing thing…”

“Rikar?”

“...Sure. Yeah. That. Anyway he was awesome. Pidge is in the solar beating people at whatever that board game is called now so that’s fun. I’m just holding our seats until they get back.”

Kyana giggled prettily, “It is amusing to think your short friend believes she will win at thrangik. If is the favorite game of scholars across Tuarik. She hasn’t a chance.” Lance frowned at this, but forgot why as soon as she hit him full on with that blinding smile. “What events are you participating in, brave hero?” She asked sweetly.

Lance stuttered, “uh, um. Archery. And, uh, the closing race, I guess.” Kyana kindly pretended not to notice.

“You should have entered more contests!” she replied, politely disappointed. “I would have liked to see you with a better chance at taking the whole tournament.”

Lance laughed, his usual veneer of false-confidence slipping down as familiar as the back of his hand. “Alas, I couldn't, I'd make everyone here look bad with the sheer intensity of my skill, it would be rude,” he bragged loudly, puffing his chest out for the princess’s benefit.

Kyana tilted her head, an innocently confused look on her face. “And what would be so rude about that?”

“Well, er,” Lance tried to scramble for an appropriate excuse, but found none. His self-assured expression couldn’t find a toehold and slipped right off his face. It didn’t make much sense that his world-renowned ability to fake-it-till-he-made-it—not that he’d ever actually _made_ it—would fail him now in the face of such staggering beauty, but not a lot seemed to be making sense on this planet. “I'm sorry my lady, it was a joke,” he confessed. “Of course I couldn’t win,” he said flatly, eyes staring unfocused on the competitors performing impressive feats of strength below.

Kyana shifted closer, one hand sliding comfortingly onto his thigh. “Dear Lance, you do not give yourself enough credit. Why do you think you would lose?”

The truth slipped out before Lance could consider its consequence. “Because Keith is competing.”

Light caught in Kyana’s eye, and Lance frowned at it. “You do not think you could do better than your husband?” She asked, voice filled with an indistinguishable edge.

“It’s kind of a universal truth that Keith is better than me at everything.” Lance laughed darkly. Kyana shifted somehow even closer, the silky fabric of her skirts cool against Lance’s thigh.

“It seems to me that the more accomplished one has proven to be _you_ in the time that you’ve been with us. What is your method of comparison?”

Lance blinked owlishly. “Um, well, I mean, he’s the better pilot, and the better fighter. Sure I beat him at volleyball, but I’d never beat him at anything important.” He lost focus again, staring blankly at the field. “He’s the hero... I’m just the decoy.”

Kyana leaned in close, her face mere inches from Lance's own, and he was startled again by the incredible blue of her eyes—like they were lit from behind, possessing their own internal illumination. “Are you not also a pilot of Voltron?” She whispered into his ear, and Lance shivered. “Did your diversionary tactics not make Keith's rescue of our dearest princess possible? And you must not downplay your effortless leadership on both the dancefloor and in sport. If you ask me, the people's praise is misplaced. The better man is clearly you. Even your leader has not acquitted himself so well.”

It was if she’d cast a spell. Lance felt his skin tingling, his blood alight as if he’d been an unsuspecting frog in a slowly boiling pot of water. 

Why was it, that Lance was always so sure of failure before he even tried? He boasted loudly enough to make it seem as if he thought the best of himself, but it had never been true, and he had always been afraid his prideful shield looked as flimsy as it felt. Even now, when he and Keith were _friends_ , he accepted defeat before the scores had been tallied. And sure, competition wasn’t really necessary when they were on the same team, but they hadn’t always been, and they certainly weren’t right now.

Right now they were competitors.

Right now they were _opponents_.

Right now could be that final, beautiful moment where Lance proved to everyone that he wasn’t the weakest link.

“You should compete to win, brave one.” Kyana whispered hotly. “You have my confidence.” She very carefully removed a glimmering amulet from her neck, and placed it around Lance’s. “A token, to show my support.”

She smiled at him, and he was sure he looked a little crazy smiling back.

Kyana's praise kept repeating in his head like a mantra, turning his boiling blood into lava. He was praiseworthy. He was not just good enough, he was _better_.

 

“...Lance?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plz don't hate me. XD
> 
> CHAPTER NINE IS ON THE WAY I PROMISE NOT TO LEAVE IT LIKE THIS.


	9. Fight to Win

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, for some reason this kept posting with a huge chunk of text missing. It should be fixed now???

Lance sat up straight, instinctively putting space between himself and Kyana at the sound of his name. Hunk stood at the entrance to their row, looking heavily confused, and Lance had to exert some pretty considerable effort to keep a nonchalant look on his face. 

“Hey! Nice work buddy! You killed it!” he said enthusiastically, standing up to give his friend a congratulatory smack on the arm. Hunk just looked between him and Kyana with a small, concerned frown. Lance felt wired, limbs vibrating like he’d downed one too many caffeine pills, and the appropriate look of contrition he knew he should be wearing was too hard to find.  
Hunk opened his mouth to say something, but was robbed of the chance when Pidge came barreling up the steps.

“Move, move, I don't wanna miss this!” Pidge shouted hurriedly from behind Hunk. The big pilot sat down obediently, letting Pidge get back to her seat.

“How'd it go?” Lance asked her politely, still strangely jittery and a little nervous to be sandwiched between her and Lady Kyana. 

Hunk was the one who answered as Pidge just smirked with satisfaction, seeming to forget he was trying to look pointedly concerned and upset in his excitement. “Oh man you should have seen it Lance! The game was kind of like that version of chess where they use timers, but with even more rules, and Pidge was just dominating! I've never seen so many professor-types lose it at once. It reminded me of that one time you caught that mistake Professor Montgomery made in our flight theory lesson plan--do you remember the look on his face? I thought he was going to combust!” Lance did remember, vividly. “Anyway they made Yiva come down to put a stop to her because she was ruining everyone, and even then I'm pretty sure she let the princess win.” Hunk raved proudly, Pidge dusting off her shoulders haughtily.

“It’s a game they invented to test their elite for competence in strategy and leadership, if I’d beaten her they might have tried to make _me_ a princess, and no one wants that.” Pidge bragged lazily, and Lance felt Kyana stiffen at his side.

“Nice work Einstein,” He congratulated the short pilot. Something petty bubbled up, and he delivered an overly aggressive clap to her back, making her cough and glare. Lance shrugged like it was a joke, and Pidge snorted.

“Anyway, Keith’s up next, check it.” She said, directing their attention back to the field. 

Lance didn’t have to search more than a second. There he was, lined up with the other swordsmen, the stark contrast of his pale skin making him stand out like a light on the field. He looked characteristically serious as he moved through his warm-ups, swinging the competition sword they’d given him to test it, the tight muscles of his upper body rippling with the effort. They’d given him some “armor”, but it still hardly covered his chest. For a moment, Lance was terrified. That was so much exposed skin, what if he got hurt?

Lance shivered, a dark thought swirling to the surface, _So what if he does?_ He stomped the wayward malice down firmly. If Keith got hurt it would be bad, the end.

It swiftly became obvious however that no harm was going to come to the exceptional red pilot. Keith’s opponents were skilled, for certain, but Lance was willing to bet money that none of them spent hour upon hour every single day fighting robotic assailants like their lives depended on it. Keith moved like fire, swift and unpredictable, striking unexpectedly, dodging so easily the other fighters might as well have been aiming for empty air. 

After a few minutes the shaky electric feeling still infecting him became distracting again, and Lance turned to look at Kyana out of the corner of his eye. He felt strangely desperate for her attention. The thought that Keith might be stealing it from him wormed its way through his mind, strangely dark again, but to his great relief Kyana wasn’t watching Keith’s stellar performance on the field at all. She was watching _him_.

_She thinks I’m better than him. That’s crazy,_ Lance thought to himself, looking down at Keith, utterly destroying his competition on the field. He looked like some kind of war god, an animated statue of sharp metal and skill.

Kyana leaned close again. “You _are_ the better man,” she whispered, and Lance’s temperature went up several degrees. “Perhaps your dear husband is undefeatable with a sword, but you do not have to fight him with one. Your own talents are more than enough. You will see.”

Keith’s own words from before any of this had started came back to Lance. _Of _course_ you're not going to be as good as me if you're trying to play by my rules._

Lance felt the slightly unhinged grin he’d worn before Hunk’s reappearance slide back onto his face.

 

Keith won his event easily, to the great pleasure of the Tuarikians, who were thrilled to see their hero victorious. Lance stood and left for the ready-tents before the triumphant victor had the chance to get back to the stands. The jittery feeling grew--he felt like he was full of static, like if anyone touched him they’d get straight up electrocuted. He felt like a machine hooked up to too much voltage, and his core started to heat up as he donned the protective gear the Tuarikians offered him. He held the competition bow out in front of him, and even though he felt like sparks might be literally flying off of him, his arm was steady. This time. _This time_ , Lance was going to be the one returning victorious.

 

___________________________________________________________

 

When Keith made it back to his friends, he was more than a little concerned to see Kyana sitting innocently next to Pidge, with no Lance in sight. He’d been hoping that maybe Lance would be there to congratulate Keith on his win, maybe banter a little bit about who would come out ahead in the tournament. He couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed as he took his seat, and suspicious as Kyana fanned herself with a carefully neutral expression.

“Great job Keith!” Hunk congratulated him enthusiastically, putting his hands up for a double high-five. Keith reciprocated happily. _At least somebody is proud of me._

“Dude that was insane! I guess all those hours with the gladiator were worth it, huh?” Pidge enthused. Keith took a seat between them and couldn’t help grinning. 

“I mean, we are the defenders of the universe. The least I can do is not suck with my weapon of choice.” Keith laughed.

“That is true.” Pidge chuckled. “Let’s see how Lance does with his. I honestly have no idea how this is gonna go--he’s not a bad shot with a rifle, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him pick up a bow and arrow before. Where would he have ever had the chance?” She mused thoughtfully.

Hunk perked up at the opening to divulge more Lance secrets like it was his job, “Dude, you’re forgetting this kid got sent to dance classes for debutants. I’m pretty sure he also went to one of those fancy summer camps where they do stuff like this. From what I can tell his parents really wanted him to be successful—they sort of overdid it on the extracurriculars. In any case he’s got all kinds of talents you wouldn’t expect,” he explained. A thoughtful expression settled over his features, like maybe he’d explained something more than just where Lance’s talents had been acquired.

Pidge and Keith hummed a little disbelievingly, and the three paladins turned their attention back to the field. Lance was walking out of the tents, an abstruse wrist guard on his arm, and a matching quiver slung over his shoulders. The bow he carried was enormous, and Keith thought incredulously that there was no way Lance could draw the thing.

Once Lance reached his designated shooting space, he strung the bow himself, those constantly surprising muscles working easily to bend the bow. Once he’d finished, he drew it to test the string, and his elbow didn’t wiggle even a little. Keith remembered the feeling of being lifted by those shockingly strong arms and had to work to keep his face neutral. Pidge was looking at him out of the corner of her eye with a smirk anyway.

“Wow, who knew captain noodle-limbs was so strong!” she exclaimed sarcastically, mostly to tease Keith, he was sure.

Hunk came to his friend’s defense instantly. “You guys didn’t know? I guess you don’t usually train with us, do you.”

Two sets of suddenly wide eyes swiveled towards Hunk. “You guys… train together?” Keith asked, throat suspiciously parched.

“Oh yeah, I always make him lift and he tries to make me do cardio, it’s the same routine we used to do when he was on the swim team.”

For some reason, the thought that Lance had been seriously training in secret this whole time was infuriating. He always seemed so lazy, and Keith had been exceedingly quick to write him off as a slacker that brought the team down. Now as he stared down at his teammate, looking like the very image of strength and focus, the true weight of his failure to really consider Lance was heavy.

The first arrows were loosed on the field. Lance’s went straight for the heart.

 

_________________________________________________________

 

Down on the field, Lance was fairly certain he’d never been so focused in his life.

_Are you watching? This is what I can do._ he thought, though to whom he wasn’t even sure. Arrow after arrow flew from his fingers towards the target, each of them hitting true. The targets grew more complicated as he and another archer continued to tie, and the challenge seemed to wake his mind in that way few things could. The outside world faded out. He felt that crazed grin spread across his face as new targets appeared, only to be felled by his own quick reflexes. The targets appeared faster, and they loosed arrows like gunfire.

The archer who’d been keeping up with him missed. 

Lance didn’t.

The roaring crowd rushed back into his consciousness like a punch to the ears, and Lance--anxious, desperate, proud--looked for a mess of black hair and a pair of intense indigo eyes in the stands. He found his target just as quickly as he’d taken down the others. Keith was staring, like he’d never expected to see such accomplishment from Lance.

_Well. Maybe he should’ve fucking guessed._

Lance forgot to tamp down the malice this time.

He headed back to the stands, accepting an excited high five from Hunk before taking his seat next to Kyana again.

“Maybe you were right.” He grinned at the beautiful lady, suave and self-assured, overpowered like an out-of-balance videogame character, and she giggled that windchime laugh in return.

“Of course I was right. I am an exceedingly good judge of character.” Windchimes again. “You see? You outperform even your leader.” She said, and Lance frowned, his surprise like a tripped circuit on his overloaded system.

“Shiro? Shiro doesn’t need to do this kind of stuff. Plus, I mean, yeah, he leads Voltron, but he doesn’t lead _Team_ Voltron.” He said, and pointed down at the field, where Allura was taking up a position.

“She--Princess Allura is going to lift that?” Kyana stuttered. Allura was parked in front of an enormous barbell, the rest of the competitors in her row consisting of gigantically muscled men. Allura stretched, looking unavoidably pretty and delicate in comparison to the others. The announcer signalled the start, and Lance grinned as Allura grew what had to be a whole foot, and lifted the barbell with ease. One of the other competitors was so shocked by the display he fell backwards, trapped under his barbell. The crowd guffawed merrily, cheering wildly for the princess.

Kyana’s face was carefully neutral, and Lance grinned wildly. If Kyana was surprised by his friends’ strength, he was going to blow her away with his own. The circuit breaker reset. Energy seemed to be filling him to the point of spilling over. Heat swelled in his bones. He couldn’t sit still. He wanted to _move_.

“Warriors! The final event will begin soon, please report to the pits! Honored guests, please make your way to the track!” The announcer boomed over the PA system, and Lance lept up. The final event of the day was an 8 lap hoverbike race, and if there was ever an event that could prove he really was better than Keith once and for all, this was it. He looked over to where Keith was also excitedly getting up, and sneered.

_Enjoy your lofty position of superiority while you can_ , he thought, the antagonistic quip sliding past his conscience unharried. He turned to Kyana.

She stood, glittering in the sunlight, and Lance swore she’d somehow become even more beautiful. He would do anything for her. He would _destroy_ anything for her.

“My lady, I will win this race for you,” he said theatrically, bowing before her.

_Windchimes._ “Your efforts honor me, good sir.” She moved elegantly to touch the amulet she'd gifted him. “Perhaps you will be rewarded if you emerge victorious?” Her sly smile made the fire burning in Lance's stomach flare hotter. He kissed her hand, and turned to make his way out of the stands.

 

_This was it._

 

Consumed with his own thoughts of impending victory, Lance almost tripped over Hunk on his way down the stairs. His best friend’s concerned frown was back, and he opened his mouth like he wanted to ask what the hell it was Lance thought he was doing. 

“Lance, what are you doing?”

_Called it._ Lance thought humorlessly. Lance felt pinpricks of sweat break out on his forehead. He really was overheating. He didn’t have time for this.

“Why are you all buddy buddy with that lady? She seems shifty. Are you abandoning the mission? And why do your eyes look so weird? Are you okay?” Hunk asked, questions rolling out too swiftly for Lance to even bother trying to answer. Lance’s annoyance at being held up grew weirdly sharp. Hunk’s interrogation was wasting time--he had places to be, rivals to crush.

“She was just encouraging me,” he finally interrupted with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Nothing to worry about buddy.”

Hunk considered his friend, searching his face for signs that that was all it was. Keith and Pidge squeezed by, both excitedly galloping off towards the racetrack. Lance felt his smile sour and his eyes narrow as he watched his rival happily running off--his stomach turning into a hard molten core of anger and warping his expression.

Hunk’s frown deepened, “Lance!” he pressed, obvious worry written all over his face. 

Lance couldn’t find it in himself to care. What was the point of running around pretending everything was fine, pretending that Lance wasn’t planning on humiliating the red pilot? That Lance hadn’t always dreamed of shoving Keith’s annoyingly pretty face in the mud. What was the point of expending all this effort to be ‘friends’ when all he really wanted was Keith looking up at him from the dirt, begging for forgiveness? 

“Lance, what’s that? Why is it glowing?” Hunk demanded, reaching for Kyana’s amulet. Lance hissed like an animal and swiped aggressively at Hunk’s extending hand. Hunk hissed like a human in pain, and pinned Lance with a clear expression of hurt and confusion. Lance grimaced, ducking around the big pilot and running towards the track. Hunk kept calling after him, but Lance ignored him, keeping his head down and sprinting. He made it to the track, and lost himself in the crowd of racers.

_He shouldn’t have held me up. He should have minded his own business. It’s his own fault._

 

The speeder they gave him was fairly simplistic. No complicated gear shifting, brakes where he expected them to be, boosters on the back for straight-aways activated by the push of a button. It felt more like an arcade bike than an actual aircraft, and when Lance had asked the tech setting him up how it worked, he’d simply replied “magic.”

Lance was not amused.

The inner workings of the vehicle didn’t matter, though. At the very least this way there was no option for Keith to have any sort of technical advantage over him. This was going to come down to sheer instincts and piloting ability, and Lance was going to win. The blood in his veins felt slow, hot, and painful--like creeping magma. He thought of all the days he'd wasted, staring at the back of Keith's head and hoping he'd notice. How pathetic he'd been. How pathetic he'd always been. Always trying to be the perfect pilot, the perfect son--so afraid to let anybody down, so afraid of failure. 

The heat built to a fever-pitch, and Lance ground his teeth unconsciously. This was really going to be it.

 

“Lance?” 

 

Hunk had caught up.

_“What?”_  Lance sniped back, not making eye contact. He had hardly any focus left for things that weren't winning, and he resented the interruption. A tiny tug in the back of his mind said that he should feel sorry. That he’d hurt his friend. That he owed it to him to listen. Lance growled and pushed those thoughts away. He made a show of checking his speeder over as the silence stretched. The heat in his veins was making him tremble now. He wiped an arm across his damp forehead, breathing deeply and trying to hold himself together.

 

“You know we all love you, right?”

 

Lance felt like he’d suffered a momentary power outage.

All the heat swept out of him, leaving him cold. “What-?” he started, but the announcer cut him off with instructions to prepare to race. Hunk kept throwing nervous looks his way, but in the absence of immediate clarification Lance just shook his head forcefully, throwing the comment out of his mind. The volcanic fury he’d been building up returned like someone had started up a backup generator, and before he could think he was burning alive from the inside. He was going to win. He had to win. He had to finally show everyone that he was good enough--

The signal shot rang out, and they were off.

To his own surprise, Lance made it out of the gate in fourth. The course was a winding track through a mostly open tunnel-system in the wastes, with viewing stands built high to afford a fairly unobstructed view of the race. Lance zoomed by the crowd and marveled at the thought that for once, some of that cheering was for him.

Flames licked his ribs from the within. Soon all those accolades would belong to him.

Just him.

He leaned hard into a turn, right on the tail of the Tuarikian racer who'd beaten him out of the box. Lance put all his energy into following him as closely as possible and keeping his lines clean. He'd lose speed if he went into a turn too fast or too wide, better to follow and learn the course than charge ahead and end up crippling himself with a poor guess. He kept as cool as he could, though images of Keith's stupid face as he complained about Lance's inability to concentrate threatening to, ironically, break his concentration. 

The final turn opened back up into the straight away, and Lance made his move.

He caught up to the Tuarikian racer with a well-timed boost so they were side by side. He positioned himself, and when the first corner came at them again, the Tuarikian had to let Lance by on the inside.

Instead of looking back and letting himself grow concerned with losing ground now that he had actually gained some, Lance set his sight ahead with laser focus. A few more turns--taken slightly faster now that they were on the second lap--and Lance caught up to the second place racer.

Again, Lance bided his time. Either the racer in front of him would make a mistake, or Lance would find a chance to make a stand. 

He followed close, turns tight, palms starting to sweat, and became increasingly aware that he was losing his mind.

He was torn in half--one part focused only on the race, on the rider ahead of him, of how he was going to find a way to sneak past on turn six if he could. The other half kept… slipping. Kept thinking that if only Keith had less of a hero-complex, Lance wouldn’t have to fight so hard to prove himself. If only Keith had acknowledged him before, when they were still in school, maybe this gaping hole in his heart wouldn’t be gnawing at him so impatiently. If only Keith hadn’t _been._

The rider in front of him went wide on turn six, and Lance took his opportunity to slide by on the inside again.

Lance was in second place, and he knew exactly who he was fighting for the finish line.

 

Keith was well ahead of him. It took Lance another two laps to catch up enough for Keith to even notice, and the moment he did he seemed to almost double his speed. Lance didn’t have time for anything except focus. Brake now, lean here, _now_ , accelerate, accelerate, accelerate.

Two more laps went by in such a blur, Lance would have been terrified if he’d had the capacity to think. The straight-away came up again, and Lance deployed his booster expertly. He caught up to Keith, and the two hurtled side-by-side toward the inevitable turn. Sweat dripped into his eyes as Lance pressed forward, determined to make it past his rival. Turn one approached, and Lance swore under his breath as they both leaned into it.

And then he was in first.

The heat that had been building in his blood seemed to sing. He was in first. He was in first. He was beating Keith. He was _winning_.

He held his lead desperately, knowing Keith would be less than a second behind. _Concentrate, concentrate, now isn’t the time to celebrate! Get across the finish line!_

Lap seven was gone before he could blink. The straight-away reappeared. Lance hesitated an instant too long to accelerate out of the turn.

Keith screamed by on the outside.

The entirety of the eighth lap was like being thrown into an inferno. He felt like he was being actively murdered.

He knew who was holding the knife.

The final corner approached. Lance cut in close, bringing them side-by-side again. An idea entered his thoughts like a drop of black dye in clear water. _If he turned just the slightest bit right now,_ he could unbalance Keith. The red pilot would crash, and Lance would win. He could say it was an accident. He could--

Keith boosted perfectly and accelerated out of the turn and across the finish line, not even a full speeder-length ahead. Lance’s vision went red.

Keith skidded to a dramatic stop, and Lance followed, scrambling to dismount and ripping off his helmet. Lance grit his teeth, anger radiating out of him like heat off pavement, teeth biting into his own lips hard enough to bleed, hot tears stinging behind his eyes. He wanted to hit someone. He wanted to _hurt_ someone.

Lance turned violently toward the source of his pain, fist clenched and ready to be thrown.

At the exact same moment, and with an exuberant shout, Keith collided with him in an embrace.

“Did you see that!” Keith demanded, squeezing the taller pilot and lifting him into the air. “That was incredible! Lance and Keith, neck-and-neck!” He spun them around and set Lance back down roughly, hitting him with a brilliant smile, eyes shining with excitement and sheer joy.

 

Lance felt like he’d been shot.

 

With those magic words, the violent energy that had been driving him blinked out, and the truth hit him with all the freezing brutality of an avalanche.

He had never hated Keith.

He had been _infatuated_ , and too busy feeling inferior to separate his own self-hatred from his obsession. All those weeks and months and years, staring at the back of the best-pilot-in-their-year’s head, wishing he could beat him, could fight him, could _be_ him… He’d been projecting his own self-doubt. He’d climbed so high in the past few days, ripping his insecurities away from the vision of Keith in his head, being _friends_ , competing because it was fun and not because he had to, so he could feel anything other than _useless._

And here he was, all the way at the bottom of the mountain again.

Keith had wandered a few steps away, ranting with enthusiasm about how amazing this or that pass had been. The flush on his cheeks made him glow, his happiness seeping off of him in waves, slowly drowning Lance.

With sudden acute desperation, he closed the distance, reaching out for one of Keith’s outstretched hands and spinning the unsuspecting pilot into him. Lance didn’t give himself time to think, burying his free hand in Keith’s dishevelled hair and bringing their lips together, like he really was drowning and Keith’s lungs held all the air left in the universe. 

Keith made a very surprised squeak, but didn’t pull away. Instead, he just chuckled into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Lance’s back contentedly. The comforting, _normal_ warmth of him was an antidote. Lance held onto him like an anchor, and slowly the last of the hateful fire in his veins burned out. All the thoughts and feelings Lance had experienced over the past few days played like a movie on fast forward in front of his eyes. Keith, upset by the pool on the leisure deck. Keith laughing at Lance covered in food goo. Keith uncertain on the dancefloor. Keith _certain_ on the dancefloor. Keith holding up his sparkling ring to the sun, and whispering _“kiss me one more time and let’s go.”_

Waking up, warm, and the heady scent of flowers.

Keith broke the kiss, a smile still on his lips, and then his brows knit into the most perfect knot of concern Lance had ever seen.

“Are you okay?” Keith asked urgently, moving to look the slightly taller pilot over for wounds. Finding none, he held Lance’s face delicately in his hands, wiping away tears Lance hadn’t realized he’d been shedding.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stuttered dumbly, backing away and scrubbing his cheeks dry.

To Lance’s surprise, when he looked up again Keith was smiling.

“Hey,” He said warmly, gently taking Lance’s hands away from his face and holding them between the two of them. “You found your focus. You didn’t get lost in the details. If you hadn’t hesitated on that final turn you would’ve had me. You were amazing, Lance.”

 

This just wasn’t fair.

 

Lance remembered the first time he’d ever seen Keith fly. It had been the most inspiring thing he’d witnessed in his life. Keith was perfect, in the air. He’d watched him soar, making rash choices, _bad_ choices, confounding everyone else in the sky, and thought… he’d _thought_ that he wanted to _be_ like that, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Flying was a goal, for him, not an art. Keith flew like a painter, like a musician--he was an artist putting their soul outside their body for other humans to see.

Lance could see, now, what hadn’t been clear before.

 

He didn’t want to _be_ Keith.

 

He just _wanted_ him.

 

Keith smiled up at him, and Lance swallowed thickly. Time slowed.

 

“Keith--”

“That was STUPID cool!” Pidge yelled, barrelling into them from out of nowhere, breaking the spell.

“You guys beat everybody else by a whole lap!” Hunk shouted proudly, putting his arms around both Keith and Lance and lifting them into the air in a gigantic hug.

“I couldn’t believe it when you passed me.” Shiro said, chuckling, as Hunk put them back down.

Lance shook his head, trying to find his bearings, and paused on what Shiro had said. _That can’t be right._ “I passed you?”

Shiro smirked. “You didn’t even realize it was me? I was right behind Keith at the start.”

Lance’s brain fizzled out as it failed to compute the idea that he’d just out-flown _Shiro_ , his hero since before he’d even entered the Garrison. That was just.

That was impossible.

Shiro put a hand on his shoulder, taking him back out of his thoughts. The look on his face was warm but serious. Lance shivered. 

“I’m very proud of you, Lance.”

Lance bit his lip and stood up straight. This was the upper limit of his emotional capacity.

“I’m gonna need everyone to stop being nice to me, effective immediately, or I am going to cry for the rest of our trip and you will all have to explain what you’ve done to our hosts,” he said seriously, wiping his runny nose and glaring at each of his friends in turn.

Everyone laughed, Hunk pulled each of them in for another group hug, and then rested his arm securely over Lance’s shoulder as they joined the crowd of competitors headed back to the arena for the awards ceremony and the end of a very long day. Suddenly remembering Hunk’s concern before the race, and how Lance had literally taken a swipe at him, Lance slowed down to put some distance between them and the rest of their friends.

Hunk sighed with obvious relief. “So, buddy… are you okay?” he asked delicately.

Lance wobbled a little just remembering the fiery hatred and dark malice that had been slowly consuming him. “Yeah. But I… I _wasn’t_. I don’t know why I was acting like that. I don’t...”

“I know you don’t. That’s why I was so worried,” Hunk said warmly, pulling Lance a little closer. His soft warmth was a balm to Lance’s still-raw everything.

“I’m sorry,” Lance sniffed. “Thanks for trying to help. You actually did snap me out of it for a second there before the race.”

Hunk hummed thoughtfully, and they walked in silence for a moment.

“Lance… that amulet.” Hunk pointed, having learned his lesson not to reach for it. Lance looked down at the token and gasped.

“It’s cracked!” Worry and guilt shot through him. How could he make it up to Kyana? He was sure she had wanted it back. It had probably been expensive. When could it have broken?

Lance’s panicked thought process slowed to a halt as he registered the look Hunk was still giving him.

“... _No_ ,” he breathed, looking up into his taller friend’s serious face with disbelief.

“We shouldn’t jump to any conclusions, but maybe don’t accept any more gifts while we’re here.” Hunk said gently. Lance trained his gaze on the dirt, worrying the broken amulet in his fingers.

“...Right.” Lance agreed quietly. Hunk squeezed his shoulder one more time, and they picked up the pace to rejoin the others.

Keith smiled blindingly as Lance caught up to him, and Lance blushed as Keith took his hand. As they walked together, he felt nothing but _warm_.

________________________________________________

 

While, theoretically, Keith had known winning the race meant he’d won the tournament overall, he hadn’t actually thought about what that meant. As he ascended the podium--Lance a step behind, waving like he was king of the galaxy--he shivered, palms sweaty. An aide presented him with a medal that sparkled in the sunlight. Lance received a similar award on his second place pedestal, as did the Tuarikian soldier who’d come in third, though what determined the rankings was still beyond Keith’s understanding.

Yiva descended from her observation box, and Keith gulped.

He had completely forgotten about the “prize” of this tournament.

He was going to have to kiss the princess.

Keith shuffled nervously, suddenly wishing he’d let Lance win. Somehow, he felt he’d rather be uncomfortable and jealous over uncomfortable and on the spot. Yiva reached the arena sands, and Keith looked desperately to Lance, hoping against hope that his friend had some sort of insane plan to thwart this.

Lance was smirking, and Keith’s stomach dropped. He wasn’t going to save him this time. He was going to watch Keith suffer, and he was going to think it was _funny_.

Yiva drew closer, and Keith was afraid he would start hyperventilating at any moment. _Why are you freaking out?_ he demanded of himself, trying to take even breaths. _It’s just Yiva, she’s nice,_ he rationalized. This was stupid. He was getting worked up over nothing. Just because everyone was staring--it didn’t mean anything. It would be over before he knew it. It would be--

Yiva stopped about a foot in front of him, one step lower than the podium, smiling kindly.

\-- _it would be fine._

“A kiss for the victor, as promised!” Yiva declared to the crowd, and a small, strangled sound escaped Keith.

Suddenly, there were lips by his ear, and Keith nearly gasped as a shock traveled up his spine. 

“Hey, buddy, don’t drop me.”

That was all the warning he got before suddenly his hands were in Lance’s, the taller boy manipulating him into some kind of dance step. They twisted, and Keith realized what Lance had meant _just_ in time to keep from dropping him. 

Keith held Lance in a dramatic dip, staring in unabashed shock as the taller pilot winked. 

Something in Keith’s chest swelled. _Lance to the rescue again._

Keith leaned down and kissed his ridiculous friend. Yiva laughed. 

Lance spun back into a standing pose and shouted, “A kiss for the victor!” He lifted their hands together, and bowed like an actor after a stellar performance. The crowd cheered. 

The warm balloon in Keith’s chest popped.

_Oh._

_That’s right._

_A performance._

Lance smiled down at him warmly, and Keith returned it mechanically. He let go of Lance’s hand to wave at the crowd in the stands, and shivered.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all, you are beautiful humans, and I'm sorry no one is allowed to have nice things yet.
> 
> Your comments sustain me, thank you eternally. <3


	10. I've Been Chasing This Starlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk, I’m used to the internet being a pretty shitty place, and I am constantly stunned at the level of kindness and excitement you guys bring with your comments. I know I say thank you every time but I really, really want to make sure it’s sinking in. You’re all wonderful, thank you for being so enthusiastic and nice, and especially thank you to all of you who keep coming back. You’re really making this a joy to write (I mean, more than it already was, because this is actually just self-indulgence at its finest).
> 
> Also in case anybody missed it, check out this fanart for chapter 7 from one of my absolute favorite humans, [extrabonusfanart](http://extrabonusfanart.tumblr.com/post/154796729261/some-fan-art-for-the-wonderfully-well-written-fic).
> 
> Now here, have a late holiday present from me.

Keith didn’t really know why he was sulking in a corner of the enormous ballroom, drinking something that tasted vaguely like nunvill and smelled unnervingly like rocket-fuel. He knew objectively that he’d just been named the champion of the king’s tournament, and that appropriate diplomatic protocol stated he should be participating in the celebration and generally being a good sport about it. He knew that. Objectively.

Keith sipped from his glass of poor choices and continued sulking.

“Seriously?”

Keith didn’t look up at Shiro. Acknowledging him meant he would have to accept that he was acting like a 5 year old that was becoming slowly drunk while throwing a tantrum. Some things were better left unaddressed.

Shiro wasn’t having it.

“Keith. Talk to me,” he said, standing directly in Keith’s line of vision and crossing his arms authoritatively. Keith sighed exaggeratedly.

“I just don’t feel like celebrating for the third night in a row, I’m sorry. Why can’t we leave already and get back to fighting the Galra?” While his exasperated complaints might have sounded reasonable at another time, there was no avoiding sounding like a petulant child now. He crossed his own arms and glared in no particular direction whatsoever.

“Maybe if you stopped glaring at Lance from across the room I’d believe you.”

If Keith hadn’t already been wearing his maximum level glare, he would have deepened it. “I’m not.”

“What, glaring, or staring at Lance, because I’m pretty sure if you shot a laser out of your eyes right now we would discover a convenient scorch mark right in the center of his face.”

Keith found it within himself to glare harder after all.

“Look, Keith, just talk to me. Did he do something? Is he not respecting boundaries? Do I need to talk to _him_? I knew this whole charade might affect your relationship, but I was hoping the change would be positive--”

“He didn’t _do_ anything. You don’t have to talk to him.” Keith groused, interrupting Shiro’s concerned investigation.

“Then what--”

“Are we talking about how Keith’s sulking in the corner because he’s got a huge crush and doesn’t want to deal with it?” Pidge asked, seeming to have appeared from thin air, now leaning comfortably against the wall on Keith’s other side. “If not, we totally should, because he’s being a giant baby about it.”

Keith discovered new levels of glare heretofore unimagined by the human mind.

Shiro just blinked.

Then the moment passed, and he _snorted_.

Keith whirled on him. “You think this is _funny?_ ” He cried, sloshing a bit of his drink out of the cup in his distress. “We’re in the middle of a _mission_ , and I’m going to fuck it up because I developed some kind of stupid _feelings_ for my partner. Not to mention how it’ll affect forming Voltron. We have to share minds, for crying out loud! How am I supposed to keep that kind of a secret? I’m an _idiot_ , and I’m letting the entire team down.” He kicked the foot of a nearby column. Shiro’s laughter cut off abruptly and he crossed his arms again.

“Are you done?” He asked, singular eyebrow raised in the ultimate disappointed expression. Keith leaned against the wall and knocked his head back to stare at the impressively carved ceiling and it’s many decorative chandeliers. 

“Yes.” He said, trying to sound serious and not like a pouty kid. He knew that a few parallels were inevitable, considering he certainly _felt_ like he was throwing a tantrum. He just… couldn’t help it. He was gambling with the well-being of the entire universe because his mission partner was cute, and kind, and funny, and talented, and...

_Damn it._

Keith bit his lip and then took another ill-advised sip of his drink. Shiro sighed that frustrated dad sigh Keith was so used to hearing directed at Lance. He felt like even more of a failure to have it directed at him.

“Keith. It’s been obvious to anyone with eyes that you two have been growing closer all week. Just go talk to him about it.” Shiro suggested, keeping his voice carefully even.

“I can’t just--!”

“You _can_ just. You can just walk right over there and talk to him about it.” Shiro said firmly. “We can be patient, if you need to work up to it, but don’t just sit here beating yourself up about it.” He put a hand on Keith's shoulder kindly. 

“For what it's worth, I'm like 97.543 percent sure he'd take a bullet for you.” Pidge said offhandedly, fiddling with some kind of gadget that looked oddly sparkly. 

Keith took in the sight of Lance casually flirting with an entire crowd of courtiers across the room, and growled.

Shiro clapped a firm hand on his shoulder, and Keith sighed, exhausted.

“Whatever.”

He kicked off the wall gruffly, put his drink down and trudged his way determinedly across the dancefloor.

 

Back in the corner, Shiro and Pidge smirked.

“Wanna place a bet on how long it takes them to confess?” Pidge prompted with an evil glint in her eyes. Shiro frowned and re-crossed his arms.

“I heard about you all betting at the tournament. I do not want to encourage a minor to _gamble_ ,” he said gravely. Pidge gulped, looking suddenly uneasy. Shiro let her squirm a moment longer under his angry dad gaze, and then laughed.

“I give them until the end of the night.”

Pidge punched him in the arm, punishment for teasing her. “No way. They’re weenies. My bet is on “forever,” but, you know, in the hyperbolic sense of the word.”

Shiro barked a laugh. “You’re on.”

The two grinned conspiratorially and headed off.

 

 

Keith charged across the ballroom with single-minded focus, completely oblivious to the paths of affronted dancers he bisected. He reached Lance in moments, blood buzzing, his lungs filling with some sort of admonishment, but he couldn’t even think of an appropriate reason to be mad. Lance may have been engaging in some light verbal philandering, but that was just… Lance. He slowed his angry march, frowning inwardly at his inability to function like a normal human being. This was stupid. He was being stupid. _Lance_ was stupid. A handsome courtier reached out to stroke Lance’s hair, marvelling at the texture. Keith’s vision went red, and he sped up, fists clenched at his sides.

Lance saw him first.

“Darling!” he called, looking downright ecstatic to see him. He politely pried himself away from his entourage, stepping out to intercept the incoming hurricane that was Keith. He took Keith’s hand and gracefully brought it to his lips, kissing it softly, eyes sparkling. “Did you miss me?” Lance asked in his patently flirtatious manner. 

Keith stuttered. 

He was immediately thrown off balance; it was as if he’d opened a door expecting to find a normal room and instead an ocean poured out. His brain helpfully supplied the information that Lance was acting, that all of this was for show, but his pulse was deaf to it. The steam power of self-righteous jealousy he’d used to make his way there evaporated and he stood awkwardly frozen, trapped like a deer in headlights. Lance wound his arm around his tensed shoulders, and Keith remembered he’d been asked a question.

“Wait, wha-n- _NO_ , you were just--”

“Making nice with the locals, just like _you_ are supposed to be doing.” Lance said silkily and with only a hint of teasing, steering them into the middle of the dance floor and twirling Keith into position.

Keith glowered--this was not how he’d planned for this to go at all. “I’m tired of dancing,” he growled petulantly.

Lance smiled softly. “Me too. Just one, and then what do you say we blow this popsicle stand?”

The softness to the suggestion had Keith again struggling to find his footing. Why could nothing with Lance ever be straightforward? The two of them twirled across the hall, and Keith’s heart beat so hard he thought he could hear it over the music.

But getting away from people meant being alone with Lance, which had been his original goal… hadn’t it? Suddenly the idea sounded both perfect and terrifying. “That sounds… good,” he coughed, oh so smoothly. Lance just kept smiling softly, his eyes hooded, and Keith was glad that they were dancing. He was one hundred percent certain that he would not have been able to keep from squirming under the attention otherwise.

They spun fluidly over the floor, and as the cyclical movements leached his defensive and foul mood entirely out of his system, he had to laugh.

How had he ended up here?

Keith had honestly thought that he was a bit more of an island, at this point. After so many years with no one but himself to rely on, he’d figured himself harder, colder than this. Yet here he was, dancing and playing innocent games of volleyball and desperately wishing that a _fool_ of a boy would like him back. He’d made fun of Lance for being soft, but with squishy insides like these, he had no room to talk.

The dance this evening was slower, with a circular sway to it, and Keith felt like he was being gently rocked by an amicable ocean--storms a distant memory, the tides washing warm and peaceful against the sands. The water analogy reminded him again of Lance, and he risked a glance at his partner’s face. Lance was staring unfocused at a spot somewhere over Keith’s shoulder, and a pained look had crept onto his sharp features.

“...Sorry,” he breathed, like a man defeated.

Keith startled from his reverie, feeling so unbalanced he worried he really had gotten drunk. He wracked his brain for something Lance would need to apologize for, but nothing came to mind. “For what?” he asked, genuinely confused. 

Lance turned a brilliantly perplexed frown on him. “What do you mean, for what? You were glaring at me for an entire hour before you stormed over like you were ready to give me a piece of your mind.” Keith flushed with embarrassment, but Lance continued quickly, “I thought it was because I went overboard with that dip on the podium. I just figured, you know, we’ve kissed before, it would probably be less stressful than doing it with a stranger, and it seemed like you needed help at the time, and I just couldn’t think of anything else.” He explained rapidly, sounding more ashamed and frustrated with each word. “I shouldn’t have made assumptions. I’m sorry.”

Keith stared slack jawed for a good twenty seconds before his sense kicked in, each infinite moment of which saw Lance crumbling in on himself a little further. Before Keith had even made a conscious decision about how to respond, both of his hands were cupping the taller pilot’s cheeks and a litany of “no no no no”s was pouring from his mouth.

“ _No._ ” He said emphatically as his brain caught up to his immediate need to reassure his friend. “You absolutely saved me out there.” He stroked Lance’s cheek to make the other boy meet his eyes. “ _Thank you_. I was panicking. I don’t know what I would have done.”

Lance let out a relieved sigh, and his face lit up with a quiet smile. He took Keith’s hands back in his own, and pulled him into a dramatic spin. When the move was complete and Keith was back in his arms, he frowned again. “So wait, then why have you been glaring at me all night? What did I do if not that? And I know it wasn’t because I was flirting with those courtiers because for one, I was being polite, and secondly you started sulking way before I started talking to them.”

Keith choked, completely caught. _’Why, no reason, Lance. I just can’t stop thinking about your hands and what I would like you to be doing with them. Speaking of which, I know you’re sort of holding me right now, but could you do it a little_ better _please?’_

Keith just stared, mouth open on the verge of a response, until Lance snorted.

“Okay, fine, Mr. Grumpypants.” He teased, shaking his head. “As long as you’re not mad at me, I guess I don’t care.” He rested his temple against Keith’s, standing unusually close as they danced, and the shorter boy feared his heart would beat right out of his chest.

Keith laughed weakly. “Yeah, no, you’re uh… good,” he said eloquently. Lance snorted again, and the two spun quietly until the song wound to a close. Lance made no move to separate, and Keith stood, chest to chest and literally cheek to cheek, praying he wouldn’t spontaneously combust.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity and a half, Lance took a step back. Keith looked up, afraid to find out what kind of expression Lance was wearing, but unable to help himself. Lance was grinning, the navy depths of his eyes filled with a surprising light.

“Do you wanna go to the pool?” He asked, quiet and mischievous. 

Keith laughed in surprised relief and nodded.

 

 

_______________________________________________

 

The pool was deserted as they crept in past the abandoned entrance. Pink and orange lights shone up from the water as they followed the winding river path, a compliment to the cool moonlight that lit their way.

They headed for the big pool in silence, neither of them wanting to break the easy quiet or alert any possible passers-by to their presence. Once they reached the open space however, neither could hold in their amazement.

 _”Wow.”_ They breathed simultaneously.

The moon hung huge and heavy over the cliff’s edge, perfectly centered. It was softly framed by strange trees, and the glittering reflection it cast over the surface of the water looked like magic. The sight was stunning.

Keith risked a glance over at his partner. Always so favored by the sun, Lance shone like a polished stone saturated in moonlight. The cool light brought out new features in the darkness--the white glimmer of teeth, the deep blue of his eyes, the unexpected length of his lashes.

Keith shook his head forcefully, making himself breathe normally as he started pulling off clothes so he could get in the water. He focused intently on getting his boots off without making a fool of himself, absorbing himself in the task to keep him from openly staring as Lance did the same. When he finally pulled off his shirt, and a small noise like air sucked through teeth caught his attention as he tossed it aside. 

Lance didn’t look away quite quickly enough, and Keith’s heart beat in doubletime. 

Lance continued to strip haphazardly as if the moment hadn’t happened, tossing his clothes with reckless abandon before letting out a gleeful hoot as he dived in. Keith stepped in with slightly more reserve, pulse humming with excitement.

Lance had been staring at _him_.

There was hope.

 

Keith immediately regretted everything that had led him here to this moment in his life, as it took Lance exactly twelve seconds to creep up behind him and dunk him under the water.

Keith spluttered to the surface, hair in his eyes and water up his nose, and growled.

“No way, you’re not getting away with that.” He declared hotly, wading towards his heartily laughing friend ungracefully.

Lance backstroked away smoothly. “Ain’t no way you’re catching me like that, landlubber,” he teased happily. Keith grit his teeth and pushed off into an aggressive freestyle, hoping to catch up by sheer surprise. 

Lance yelped and Keith grinned, but the blue paladin was still too quick. As if he were really just a fish glamoured to look like a human, he’d change directions underwater, teasing Keith by grabbing his feet or tickling the back of his knees as he torpedoed by. Keith struggled after him valiantly, but after the third time Lance appeared from nowhere, lifted him in the air and tossed him into the water, Keith accepted he was beaten. He’d completely forgotten to yell disgruntledly on the last toss--an unbridled bout of laughter escaping from him before he could rein it in. Even Keith’s surprisingly hot competitive streak was weak in the face of Lance having fun. He turned to pretend to complain at his friend, but one glance at that gleefully laughing face stole the words from his lips.

He was _weak_.

And then suddenly Lance was behind him, arms around his waist, the combination of cold water and hot skin making him break out in goosebumps. Time stopped, crackling electricity freezing his limbs. His heart beat like a hummingbird, his whole body braced in anticipation.

 

Really, he should have expected the suplex.

 

Once again, keith struggled to the surface, coughing up pool water and flushing redder than his lion.

“Alright, alright, truce, this is just unfair to you at this point.” Lance cried through tears of laughter. Keith fumed, wanting to chase him again, incapable of forfeiting, but as Lance swam leisurely over to the cliff edge something made him pause.

Lance rested his chin in his folded arms on the slightly submerged pool wall that separated them from the open expanse past the cliff, letting the gentle current pass by over the edge around him to terminate in a delicate waterfall far below. His expression was tight and closed, even though he was still smiling. Keith had the feeling the attempted smile was for his benefit, and the idea made his chest ache. He swam up quietly, settling in next to Lance and mimicking his pose to stare out at the desert. They stayed like that in companionable silence for longer than Keith thought Lance should have been able to, listening to the thin waterfall as each droplet landed amongst the rocks below. Keith worried he might not speak up at all until eventually, inevitably, Lance broke.

“I _miss them_.” He sighed in frustration, body tense. He turned his head and leveled Keith with a rueful stare that the shorter pilot didn’t know how to interpret. Keith waited, making it clear he was listening.

Lance huffed out a cynical laugh. “I’m the worst. I miss my family, but when we’re hanging out I forget to miss them, and then I feel bad for forgetting.” He explained, staring back out at the stars, infinite and abundant in the darkness of the empty desert. He laughed again. “And then I feel bad for feeling bad while we’re having fun.”

Keith hummed softly at that. “ _You_ were having fun. I was drowning,” he teased. Lance caught the wry smile he couldn’t help wearing, and laughed a little more weightlessly. A silent moment passed. Keith shifted closer.

“Tell me about them. Your family.” he prompted, hoping it was the right thing to suggest. Deep down, he also desperately wanted to know. He wanted to know who the people that made the boy he was becoming so rapidly fond of were. He wanted to know what sort of humans deserved such unwavering love and loyalty across innumerous star systems.

Lance blinked in surprise at the demand, and Keith tried not to blush under his startled gaze. He met Lance’s look with a prodding one of his own, encouraging his friend to speak.

Laughing again, and somewhat desperately at that, Lance spoke.

“Martin used to love it when I threw him around when we went to the water. So did Luci, I think, though she’d never admit it. It was sort of my job, since I was the oldest. I was gonna teach baby Percy how to swim that summer we left.” He spoke quietly, but each word seemed to sap a little bit of the melancholy out of him. “Gwen used to try so hard to throw me, even though she was tiny. She used to get Luci to help--she was the only one who ever really stood a chance, anyway.”

“What’s it like having a twin?” Keith asked, genuinely curious. Having siblings at all was completely foreign to him, but the idea of having a twin seemed extra alien somehow.

Lance snorted. “It’s, you know. It’s annoying, but it’s also awesome. When we were little we looked super similar so we used to get up to all the cliche movie hijinks.” He extolled a little proudly. Keith had no idea what that meant, but he nodded like he did. Lance smiled knowingly at him and explained, “switching clothes and trying to pass off as each other in the middle of the day at school, that sort of thing.” The image of two tiny Lance’s running around like evil banshees, forcing people to guess which one was which flitted through his head, and he couldn’t help but laugh. Lance grinned, satisfied with the reaction. “By the time we were out of middle school I was just an annoying brother she was too cool for, but it’s hard to share a house and a birthday and not be close. She knew me better than anybody,” he trailed off a little wistfully. He shivered, and Keith shifted closer again, on the pretext of sharing a bit more body heat in the rapidly cooling darkness. Lance just smiled at him.

“I wish you could’ve met her. You’d like her. She likes to shoot first and ask questions later too,” he teased, bumping Keith’s hip with his own.

“I haven’t done that in at least a week. I resent your insinuation.” Keith retorted cooly.

Lance sank back into his arms, but he was grinning. 

“Thanks. This… it helps.”

Keith just nodded in response, but the idea that he’d done even a little to make Lance feel better made him feel warm all the way through his toes. 

Lance turned to look at him again, and asked, “you don’t ever get homesick?”

Keith shrugged, curling up a bit more comfortably and reaching an arm out to trace soothing patterns on Lance’s back. “Nothing to miss. And besides, out here I’ve got you.”

It took a good ten seconds of Lance not responding for Keith to realize what he’d done.

 _Oh no._

His eyes widened in horror, and his breathing grew harsh as he desperately tried to think of how to make that sound even a little less like exactly what he meant. He ripped his hand away and tried and put some distance between them. 

_Oh no oh no oh no._

Lance caught his wrist, preventing him from running. Keith froze, unable to look back, unable to escape. The silence weighed heavy between them, even as an errant bar of music from the distant ballroom drifted to them on the wind. One moment passed, and then another, and Keith realized he was hopeless. Shiro has wanted him to talk--and now he’d done it, more or less. He calmed his ragged breaths and forced himself to turn back and meet Lance’s eyes.

Lance’s face betrayed nothing, foreign in the moonlight, searching Keith’s face until he was certain the sharp-eyed boy must have discovered every single one of his secrets. Lance stood up slowly, pulling Keith back to him, taking both of the raven-haired pilot’s hands in his own and studying them with that unreadable expression. Mere inches separated them, and Keith forgot how to breathe entirely. Lance’s eyes snapped up to meet his own, and he felt dizzy with their intensity.

“Can I kiss you?”

It was no louder than a whisper, but the unexpectedly low tenor to Lance’s voice made Keith’s skin prickle with electricity.

Trying desperately to remember how his throat worked, Keith gasped, “there’s no one here.”

Lance didn’t flinch, one hand reaching slowly towards Keith’s helplessly clenched jaw. “I know.”

Keith nearly forgot how to stand. The stars reflected off the surface of the water and back into Lance’s eyes, glittering and imploring, backlit by the moon. The desert beyond whispered warmly on the breeze, carrying the soft melodies of the celebration they’d abandoned. Hand shaking, he reached for Lance’s, still hovering just below his ear, and brought it to his cheek. He leaned into the warmth of his palm, using it to steady himself.

He breathed out a long, fortifying breath, looked up into Lance’s starlit gaze, and said, “yes.”

Lance’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. The soft hand on Keith’s cheek moved to tangle in his hair, and Lance pulled him forward, closing the last of the distance between them.

 

This kiss was nothing like their harsh first attempt, or their better executed second try. Lance moved so carefully every touch felt like a question, a nervous request for a permission he’d already been granted. Keith couldn’t stand it, couldn’t believe this was actually happening, couldn’t abide such hesitancy anymore. He buried his fingers in Lance’s soft wet hair and pulled-- sealing the space between their bodies and angling the taller boy’s head to fit their mouths together better. 

Lance moaned softly at the change, the hand in Keith’s hair curling into a fist, his free hand splaying out on the small of Keith’s back. Keith felt like he was on fire, every inch that their bare skin touched searing with heat. _How could anyone have skin that soft?_ One of his hands drifted down to Lance’s side, ab muscles fluttering under his fingertips. He pressed up to deepen the kiss further, tongue swiping across the seam of Lance’s lips greedily.

Lance broke the kiss with a laugh. “You don’t do anything halfway, do you.”

Keith blushed violently, taking an embarrassed step back. His mouth opened to retort, but no expert comeback arrived in his defense. What was the point of doing anything by half-measures? Lance laughed again, wrapping one arm around his waist and pulling him close, the other lifting his chin to the perfect angle. 

Lance kissed him with purpose, this time. No hesitancy, no question. Just lips, and skin, and salt, and moonlight.

Keith had the cliché thought that he wished this moment could last forever.

Lance’s tongue traced Keith’s bottom lip, and he couldn’t help deepening the kiss hungrily, all self-consciousness long forgotten in the face of such an opportunity. Their tongues battled for supremacy, neither pilot capable of giving ground. Keith’s hands roamed wildly, obsessed with the feeling of soft, _soft_ skin and hard muscles. Lance moved to kiss down his jawline, and Keith gasped as he reached the vulnerable tendon of his neck. He bit down playfully, and Keith couldn’t help arching into the sensation. Lance kissed the abused area delicately, apologetically, before traveling even further down toward the sensitive intersection of tendon and collarbone and beginning to suck.

Keith’s eyes flew open, and he gripped the taller boy by the hair warningly. “I swear Lance, if you give me a hickey I _will_ kill you.”

Lance looked up, grinning. “Aw come on babe, you’re no fun.”

The pet name made his jaw clench, disbelief that the word could possibly come from Lance’s mouth unscripted mingling with the insane satisfaction that it already had. Keith crushed their mouths together, sucking hard on Lance’s bottom lip before biting down. Lance’s breath became raggedly uneven, and he smirked. “No fair.” The sight of his swollen lip stretched out into that excruciatingly familiar grin made Keith forget to breathe again. He forwent trying to remember how in favor of another kiss, and as Lance smiled into it Keith decided that this was in fact a fine way to die. 

Someone laughed, and Keith jumped, causing himself to slip on the mosaiced bottom and fall underwater--an occurrence that was becoming altogether too frequent. Lance dissolved into fitfull giggles, graciously pulling him out of the water. His eyes sparkled, and Keith blushed, heart aching.

“You wanna head back?” He asked kindly, and Keith nodded, words too complicated an endeavor in the moment. Lance smiled affectionately, and Keith wondered if his heart might burst and kill him after all. Maybe his knees would just go weak, and he’d drown. Whatever the case, making it out of the pool alive seemed unlikely.

Lance headed over to the edge where they’d left their clothes, pulling Keith by the hand to be sure he didn’t slip again. He pulled himself up out of the water expertly, and Keith drank in the sight like a dream he was afraid of forgetting when he woke up. Lance reached a hand back down to help him up, and he shook his head, gathering enough sense to pull himself out on his own. They dried themselves and dressed hurriedly, unsure of how far the person who’d laughed was and uneager to be caught in their underwear. Lance was still grinning, like the whole situation was an adventure, and Keith found the corners of his own mouth rising to match. He laughed, as they scrambled to pull shoes on, shoving each other playfully, feeling wild and alive.

 

They made it back to the palace without ever discovering the source of the laughter.


	11. Do You Trust Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very, very sorry.
> 
> Also, Chapter Warnings: 
> 
> There is a non-con kiss in this chapter. It's fairly short-lived, but if that's not your thing, do be careful while reading. It's pretty easy to see coming, so just be attentive.
> 
> There are also some panic attack scenes between this and the ending, please be careful if you are sensitive to those! It's all Lance, so skip to Keith POVs if you're unsure about a section.
> 
>  
> 
> And, as always, thanks so much for reading, I love you all.

Lance woke up _hot_.

There was no slow comfortable rise to consciousness this morning. Lance was awake and alert so suddenly he felt as if he’d been reanimated, coming to life with a terrifying electric jolt.

He did not have to spend time wondering why.

He did not have to look down to know that Keith was sprawled across him like a human blanket, his head tucked perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder. He did not have to think back to how he’d ended up in this position.

All of that information was already burning bright at the forefront of his mind, screaming for attention to a repeated soundtrack of _”out here I’ve got you.”_

He had kissed Keith last night. He’d been _weak_ , and Keith had been _kind_ , and the typically taciturn pilot had been positively _glowing_ in the moonlight. Lance couldn’t fault himself in the face of such circumstances; anyone would have succumbed to that kind of temptation. They’d stumbled back to the room in a giddy haze, laughing and teasing each other warmly, and once they’d finally made it Lance had no energy left to allow the awkward tension that threatened to stretch between them at the sight of the single bed. He’d instigated a stupid mini water-fight as they cleaned up and leapt into bed childishly, so Keith could climb in like an adult—maturely exasperated instead of nervous or unsure. They’d curled up together comfortably, and Lance had fallen asleep almost immediately, dreams disgustingly saturated with images of the two of them, laid out on a familiar beach, with even more familiar voices in the background.

In the present, Keith shifted beside him, curling around him more comfortably, and Lance’s gaze was involuntarily drawn to him. The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon, painting long swathes of warm light across Keith’s uncommonly peaceful face. The ever-present crease in his brows was smooth, his long eyelashes dusting prettily over pale cheeks, and Lance couldn’t handle it. Keith’s ring flashed in the morning light as his fist unconsciously clenched in the sheets.The sight made Lance’s chest ache. A dangerous word beginning with ‘L’ trespassed through his thoughts.

 

A sudden, horrifying thought gripped him.

 

 _I almost killed you_.

 

Lance couldn’t breathe. 

The knowledge poured over him like a bucket of ice water, and he couldn’t shake it off. If Keith had been any less skilled a pilot, Lance would not be waking up to a warm body comfortably tangled up with his. If he hadn’t gotten _lucky_ , Keith might not have ever woken up again. He’d let a pretty face and some kind words _literally_ bewitch him, and it wasn’t even the first time. He was a danger to Keith. _A danger to the team._

A trembling hand reached out and stroked a stray piece of hair out of Keith’s face, and Lance exhaled unsteadily. Carefully, with a skill borne of long practice escaping nap sessions with his younger siblings, Lance shuffled out from under his sleeping partner and replaced himself with a pillow. Keith hugged it to himself and groaned slightly, but didn’t wake up. Lance breathed a sigh of relief and dressed quickly in his normal clothes, needing a little familiarity in the moment. He took one last long look at Keith, who didn’t so much as twitch in the early morning light, and slipped out.

 

He wasn’t exactly sure where he was going, but wasn’t surprised when he found himself wandering the courtyard garden. The lush flora made his heartbeat slow it’s hammering, the constant sounds of the fountain something solid and steady for his racing thoughts to latch on to. He sighed again, picking a quiet alcove and leaning heavily on the banister delineating the path to stare at the water fixture. What was he even supposed to do? He was a liability, but he couldn’t just leave out of some misguided attempt to protect his friends. He was the blue paladin, for better or worse.

Unless it _was_ actually that easy. Allura had never mentioned how exactly paladins were chosen, but it seemed like “grabbing the first available bodies” had already worked once.

 _Shut up,_ he cursed at himself.

He laid down on a nearby bench and lost himself in trying to identify all the different types of plants, prescribing them names he thought his mother would like, but the distraction only served to add to his melancholy. Who was he even kidding? He was a failure as a paladin, and he was never going to see his mother again.

“Lance?”

The familiar accent was unmistakable, and he scrambled to assume a casual sitting position and raise a hand in greeting.

“Hey, Allura, what’s shakin’?” he asked cheerily, trying to scrub all traces of his dolorous mood from his features.

Allura started back, mouth set in a thin line. Apparently deciding against distinguishing his greeting with a reply, she sat down unceremoniously on the bench next to Lance. Lance squeaked, startled at the sudden proximity and ruining his mask of suaveness in one fell swoop.

Allura laughed quietly, apparently pleased with his reaction. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought some time in a real garden might help.”

Allura looked exhausted, and Lance wondered what could be so difficult that the ever-ready princess was showing wear. Lance leaned forward carefully, unsure of how to proceed. Allura was actually bothering to confide in him, and he really, really didn’t want to ruin it. “Somethin’ on your mind?” He prompted delicately, praying he’d managed to sound like a friend and not a nuisance.

Allura sighed, long and tired. “Negotiations are going poorly. Your… patron, Lady Kyana, is next in line for the throne after Yiva, and she is making progress quite difficult. She has been pushing for a marriage to solidify our alliance, and trying to bring down Yiva by mocking her inability to secure one. We need her happy if she is ever going to let us break this stalemate, but I do not see an easy route to encourage her to stand down,” she explained. Lance chewed on his lip, quietly regretting his decision to ask.

Allura turned to look at him, eyes sharp, and Lance broke out in a cold sweat. “She doesn’t have any reason to believe she will succeed at securing a marriage, does she?” the princess asked, voice not quite accusing, but firm enough that Lance flinched away instinctively.

He opened his mouth to deny it, but closed it again before any lies could escape. He new any defense he managed would be the product of a guilty conscience, and Allura trusted them, needed them. Lying to her wasn’t going to help anyone.

Lance took a deep breath, focusing on the comforting sound of the fountain, and told the truth. “She may have been trying to… manipulate me. I think she tried to get me to hurt Keith. She gave me this weird amulet as a token during the race, and I just, god, I’ve never felt so angry in my life. It broke, though, before I could do any damage. I don’t know why. I haven’t seen her since it happened,” he admitted, eyes trained on the ground, voice gravelly with shame.

Allura had the decency to look surprised. “Lance! Why didn’t you tell me this right away? This is-”

“Pathetic?” Lance supplied helpfully, wry smile on his face. “It’s always me. I always fall for it. I’m pathetic.”

“ _Lance_.” 

The princess’ voice was so sharp, Lance jumped in his seat, tearing his eyes from the floor to meet her lightning gaze. She had one hand fisted in his sleeve, her expression incensed. 

“Kyana is a _known_ magic-user. She put a spell on you, and you _broke_ it, under your own power. You and Keith are both safe. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been one of the other paladins, and who knows if they would have had the same success in thwarting whatever plan she has.” Allura’s voice was low, conscious of the fact that they might be overheard, but her words were impassioned. 

Lance felt like someone had just tried to divide his world by zero.

“You’re not… you’re not _mad?_ I could have killed him! I could have-” he started, words spilling into a panicked babble.

“ _Lance_.” Allura interrupted him, hands firm on either side of his face.

Lance stared at her, uncomprehending, and he watched helplessly as the truth burst forth from him unbidden, just like it always did.

”I don’t want to let him— _any_ of you down.”

Allura let her hands fall, a small smile on her face.

“And that is how I know you will not.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while after that. Lance felt as if he had been frozen, and now he’d been set to thaw. 

Maybe he did have a place here.

Maybe they needed him after all.

_Maybe he could stay._

Allura giggled quietly, and Lance looked over, confused.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s just…” she said softly, eyes sparkling. “I think that this whole mission has been rather good for you.”

Lance just looked at her, still too shaken to follow her new light-hearted tangent.

She pet his arm soothingly, seeming to understand his difficulty, and elaborated, “you’ve grown up quite a bit over the past few days. It seems like perhaps Keith is good for you.” The wicked grin she threw him should have been illegal, and Lance felt his face immediately light on fire.

“I-! We just-” he spluttered, attempting a protest, but quickly gave up in the face of Allura’s laughter. Sighing enormously, he put his face in his hands. “None of you are ever going to let me live this down, are you,” he chuckled weakly. Allura pat his back reassuringly.

“Absolutely not.”

An image of Keith’s happily smiling face, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen from kissing, bathed in moonlight flitted through his thoughts, and he felt suddenly calm.

“...Thanks, Princess.”

 

___________________________________________

 

Lance didn’t make it back to his room.

Allura had left him to head for the breakfast hall shortly after their conversation finished with stern instructions not to interact with Kyana alone again and reassurances that they would formulate a plan to deal with her that afternoon. Lance agreed enthusiastically, and headed back to the room to retrieve Keith. He hoped, a little selfishly, that Keith would still be asleep. Keith had looked so quiznaking pretty that morning, and now in the aftermath of Lance’s anxiety attack all he wanted to do was bask in it. He wanted to kiss the hot-tempered idiot until he was _dizzy_ —wanted to lie in bed until someone forcibly removed him. He’d just turned the corner to the guest bedroom wing, when he collided face-first with Hunk.

“Dude!” Hunk exclaimed, laughing as they righted themselves. “Aren’t you going the wrong way?”

Lance laughed tiredly, his frazzled nerves calming to a warm buzz at the sight of his best friend. “Hunk. _Hunk_. Did you know I’ve been in love with Keith this whole time?” He demanded quietly, unable to keep the stupid grin off his face.

Hunk let out an actual squeal, and picked Lance up in a bone-crushing hug. “Yes! I was starting to worry that you had convinced yourself you really hated him until your whole best-friend-plan happened. It was pretty obvious.”

“Next time something is that obvious, please tell me.” Lance said seriously. Hunk laughed.

“I did, dude! Like, constantly. Although I told you you were infatuated, because, you know, love is a strong word, and wow Lance, for real?” the tallest paladin asked, finally putting his friend back on solid ground. Lance didn’t go far, hiding his face in Hunk’s comfortable shoulder.

“I mean, I’m sure it’s way too soon to tell _him_ that, but, yeah. We made out last night. Like, alone. No fake-married. I’m done for.” Lance confessed, melting against Hunk’s chest and letting him do the work of keeping them upright. He felt exhausted, like he’d just run a triathlon where all the other participants were trying to kill him, and Hunk’s effortless support felt so, so safe.

Hunk squealed again, seemingly unable to resist picking Lance up for another hug. Lance just laughed, immensely grateful that the universe had seen fit to let him keep Hunk. 

“Ok,” Lance said, bracing himself on Hunk’s strong arms. “I’m gonna go get Keith, I’ll see you at breakfast.” Hunk put him down finally with one last squeeze, and sauntered off in the direction of food.

“See you later Romeo!” he teased, waving as he disappeared down the hallway.

Lance turned back the other direction to finally make it back to his room, but was startled to find the way was blocked. A serving lady Lance wasn’t familiar with waited with a strained smile, curtsying brusquely as Lance scrambled to greet her. _Shit. How much of that did she hear?_

“Good morning, honored paladin. My lady Kyana would like to invite you for tea. If you would follow me, sir?”

Lance wished desperately that Hunk were still here.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’ve got uh, business to attend to. Maybe later?” he struggled, casting his gaze down the hall and praying someone would come to his rescue. What was the politest possible way to say “hell no, I think your boss is probably evil”? Something told him his usual vernacular wouldn’t do him any favors.

“I’m afraid she was quite specific with her request. Please, sir, it would only benefit you to acquiesce,” the servant said robotically, and Lance began to sweat.

If he said no, Kyana could take it badly and maybe ruin the negotiations. If he _’acquiesced,’_ she might try to bewitch him again. He needed backup. He needed it _badly_.

“Sir, I’m sure you would much rather come and have a nice cup of tea with my mistress, than you would like to explain to his majesty why you are only just now admitting your love for your supposed _husband_ to your teammate.”

… _Quiznak._

 

___________________________________________

 

Keith yawned as they entered the oversized dining hall, with its single dressed table overflowing with decadent breakfast foods. He felt exhausted in a way he hadn’t known since Shiro had disappeared, and he knew he was wearing it on his face. Keith had barely slept, continuously waking up from embarrassingly self-indulgent dreams of being held only to realize that he _was_ still being held. His mind kept trying to reconcile the information that everything that had happened that night had been real, but his subconscious kept failing to finish the computations required. Yes, Lance had kissed him, on purpose, of his own volition. But did that mean he wanted to pursue an _actual_ relationship? Were they friends with benefits now? Did Lance actually _like_ him? He found himself growing more and more frustrated as evidence became increasingly inconclusive, until he’d caught himself nearly yelling _what do you want from me_ in Lance’s peacefully sleeping face. He’d finally passed out somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, only to awake to Lance gone and the bed cold.

All in all, Keith was tired.

“GUYS! Guys? Where’s Lance? Whatever come here, ohmygod.” Pidge exploded as he approached their table. She couldn’t wait for him to sit down in her excitement, hurdling over chairs and a small serving cart in her rush to get to him. The excessive enthusiasm had Keith dizzy in his attempt to switch gears.

“Woah! Slow down, the poor man looks half-dead, give him a minute.” Shiro, thankfully, intervened—putting a hand on the shortest pilot’s head and forcibly preventing her from bouncing off the ground. “Pidge made everyone a _present_ ,” he explained helpfully from his seat at the breakfast table, looking fond and proud.

“ _Look!_ ” Pidge squealed fervently. She shoved an armful of schematics into Keith’s chest, none of which made even the slightest sense to him.

“...What are they?” Keith asked, genuinely confused. Pidge levelled him with a terrifying grin, and he almost regretting asking.

“The replicator! It’s done!” Hunk announced for the both of them, lifting Pidge onto his shoulders as they assumed a coordinated victory pose.

“I studied the properties of hexacite—that’s the almost-diamond stuff they mine out here—with Ravig the other night when I ditched the dance because of that awful sunburn, and it turns out it’s exactly what we needed to be able to combine molecules properly to print organic foods! We can make _anything_ now!” Pidge explained exuberantly.

Keith gave them a wobbly smile. “That’s great guys, congrats,” he said, voice still weak with exhaustion. His friends seemed to read his mood finally, and Hunk pulled out a chair for him to collapse into.

“Rough night?” Pidge asked, without even adding a teasing edge to it.

Keith coughed anyway. “No, just, lot on my mind. Where is Lance?” he asked, looking around, a slight frown etching itself into his brow.

Hunk sat up, looking surprised and concerned. “He’s not with you?”

Keith shook his head. “He was gone when I woke up. I thought he’d be with you.”

“Paladins!”

Yiva swept into the dining hall exuberantly, cutting off all other conversation. “My father requests that you all accompany us on a military inspection. If we are to be allies, it would greatly behoove us to ensure our standing army is as fully prepared as possible.”

Allura stood up gracefully, bowing politely to the other princess.

“We would be happy to accompany you. Keith, would you please do us the favor of tracking down your husband? I am not certain where he could have wandered off to, but I fear he may have gotten lost.”

“Oh dear! I’ll alert the guard at once.” Yiva offered, already turning to a soldier stationed at the entrance.

“I can handle it,” Keith assured her, slipping out of his chair without bothering to eat anything. He didn’t know what Lance was up to, but this was a conversation he’d rather have in private. “We’ll join you as soon as possible.”

Keith didn’t stick around to wait for a reply, slipping out of the hall with single-minded focus.

_Where the hell was Lance?_

 

___________________________________________

 

Lance entered the parlor warily, eyeing the guards lining the corridor leading up to it with distrust. He didn’t know what Kyana was up to, but he was getting the very clear feeling that it wasn’t _good_ , if the ultimatum was anything to go by.

“My darling! I’m so glad you made it.” The gorgeous woman appeared in an artful cloud of gauzy fabric, lit like a sunset, and Lance gulped. When he had first seen her, he thought she was beautiful the way angels are supposed to be beautiful—like something precious and otherworldly. Now he felt like she might be closer to the kind of beauty the lights on deep sea fishes held, beautiful in a manner explicitly designed to lead you to certain doom.

He should have realized.

Lance smiled politely, bowing with his usual flourish as she swept up to greet him. She held out her hand, and he kissed it dutifully. “What can I do for you, my Lady?”

Her laugh sounded less like wind-chimes and more like the inappropriately pretty sound breaking glass can have. 

“Come, sit.” She said warmly, drawing him over to an intimate collection of couches. “I have heard you are fond of our cyarin tea?” She said, sitting down and pouring two cups from a stupidly ornate tea set already prepared on a low coffee table. _Do they even have coffee on Tuarik?_ Lance thought to himself, brain sticking on unimportant details to avoid dealing with...any of this. He took a seat, as far from the woman as he could manage without seeming impolite, which wasn’t nearly far enough for Lance’s liking. Kyana smelled strongly of something warm and inviting—like his mom’s garden on a warm spring day—and all of his senses urged him to just relax. Something about how the sun hit her impeccably white teeth was keeping him on edge, though. She offered him a teacup and he took it, smiling his most flirtatious smile. He hesitated, not sure how to balance being wary of drinking anything she offered him with trying not to cause a diplomatic incident. He’d never been in a position to worry he was going to be poisoned before, and he certainly didn’t enjoy the new experience. Kyana took a long sip from her delicate cup, and Lance sighed and drank. 

At least it was tasty. 

Kyana laid her cup carefully on the table, and scooted subtly closer, placing a tentative hand on his arm. Her expression became somber, and Lance got goosebumps. “So my dear, I have to ask you, are you alright?” 

Lance’s eyebrows raised in genuine surprise, “what do you mean?”

Kyana graced him with a pitying look, raising a hand to caress his cheek. “At the tournament, the princess tried to bespell you. I only hope my amulet did its work properly, I was worried it might break under the strain.” She continued stroking his face, the motions oddly mesmerizing. “So tell me, are you alright?”

Lance was stunned. That was so completely the opposite of what he’d been expecting, he didn’t even know how to process the information. Could Yiva be capable of that sort of deception? ...But Kyana looked so honestly concerned, and she’d been so supportive of him this whole time… 

_Her servant threatened me just so I would come here._

Lance swallowed thickly, and reminded himself he’d have to second-guess every thought he had while Kyana was near him. Whatever she’d done at the tournament had begun long before she’d slipped him the amulet. Schooling his features into the most neutral expression he could manage, he nodded. “Everything turned out fine. I’m still not sure… exactly what happened,” he said, sidestepping the question.

Kyana sighed in relief, resting a hand on her breast and catching Lance’s eye. “Yiva has been trying to separate you and your husband so she can make a proper alliance with him, and fortify her position as our future queen. She hoped you would commit something unforgivable, I’m sure.”

Lance felt cold. She _had_ spent time with Keith by himself since they arrived, and she had seemed so upset at first after he’d ruined her wedding prospects. But no—that was preposterous. Yiva was like, their own relationship cheerleader. Lance clenched his jaw.

_I wish Keith was here._

Lance sipped his tea and nodded, solemnly. It felt like any response he could think of would be a knife in this woman’s hands. He had been foolish to come here alone. _But what choice did you have?_

Kyana’s smile gained a devious edge, and Lance’s stomach flipped.

“Truthfully though…” She purred, fingers walking seductively up his bicep, “I have been glad to have you to myself.”

Lance looked into her eyes, and was honestly surprised by how little effect she was having on him, as far as general attraction went. Just yesterday, the very thought that a woman of that caliber might be even remotely interested in him would have sent him to the moon, and now, staring into the glittering cerulean pools of her eyes, he just felt… uncomfortable. A little frightened. A lot guilty. Just _yesterday_ , he would have taken on armies for this woman. And now all he could think of was how much better he would feel if Keith were here right now.

Kyana shifted closer, and Lance swallowed nervously. “Think about it, Lance.” She said, voice low and sultry. “So what if she takes him from you? We could ally together. We could rule this entire planet—not to mention the progress we could make with Voltron on our side.” She put her lips to his neck, smiling into his skin. “There is no need for you to stay with someone you barely touch, when we could have each other.” Lance felt the world shift. 

Literally. Lance felt immediately woozy and overheated, the horizon taking on a dangerous tilt. The sensation of Kyana nuzzling into his neck became intense, hot and tingly. A crystal dangled from her neck, glinting in the sunlight. 

“They don’t appreciate you. Your skill, your bravery, my love consider it—you could be a king.”

Lance wanted to speak, to get away, to resist, but he felt instead a sick smile creeping onto his features. _Don’t you deserve to be a king?_

“Marry me, my love. Securing an alliance with Voltron will raise my standing high enough to surpass Yiva as heir apparent. I will be Queen, and you can be my champion, my King. We’ll start with Tuarik, and together we will rescue those conquered by Zarkon and lead them in a new, benevolent empire.” Kyana ran a delicate finger along the tendons in his neck, slow and sensuous.

_No._

Lance scrambled away so suddenly, he hadn’t even realized he’d moved until he hit the other end of the couch. Kyana looked confused and slightly bereft, leaned over the empty space with one arm held out to the void Lance had so recently occupied.

“Lance?”

The amulet sparkled coldly.

Lance coughed, and hastily tried to collect his wits.

“I’m sorry, Lady Kyana, I think you were, um, misled,” he babbled nervously. “Keith and I are _definitely_ , you know, together. And I’m not really interested in… forming a galactic empire. That’s basically the exact opposite of my job description,” he continued, voice growing more steady the longer he talked. He pulled himself up off the couch, straightening his clothes and picking his way carefully around the coffee table. “I don’t see why you’d be interested in me anyway, I mean, aside from being a member of Voltron there’s literally no reason you should be interested in… me…” 

He had looked down for just a moment, to fix the lay of his sleeve, and like an apparition Kyana was in front of him.

“Oh, my darling Lance.” Her words oozed sweetness, but the kindness was gone. She stepped forward, forcing Lance to take a step back. “Do you want to know why I picked you?”

Lance swallowed thickly, “no?”

Kyana took another step. The back of Lance’s legs hit the low couch.

“I chose you because you are _weak._ I could smell it on you the moment you arrived. I could hear it in your pathetic excuses against an alliance.” Kyana laughed, and the sound was like grating metal. “I couldn’t believe it when you broke my enchantment—you are lucky that even though your own feelings are flawed and fractured, your husband loves you, though I can’t imagine _why._ ” Kyana put a finger to Lance’s chest and pushed, forcing him back down onto the couch. “Now be a good puppet, and _sit still._ ”

Lance was frozen.

Lance was _literally frozen._

A guard from the hall entered, and called “target approaching, your highness.” Kyana nodded her understanding sharply, and began to crawl over Lance’s paralyzed form.

“Just because you don’t want to play, doesn’t mean you aren’t already a pawn my sweet.” She said, and pulled his face to hers.

Lance tried to protest, to do _anything,_ but all he could do was stare in wide-eyed horror as Kyana bent down to kiss him. He heard a scuffle near the door to the hall and tried desperately to turn and look, but it was as if his brain simply couldn’t send signals to his body. He couldn’t even strain a finger. Quite the opposite, in fact, his body seemed to be moving on it’s own, back arching as Kyana trailed the corner of his shirt up his abdomen.

 _“Lance?”_ A pained voice growled, and Lance’s heart plummeted. He felt his head tilt of it’s own volition—felt an unconcerned brow raise in the direction of the speaker, felt his eyes slowly travel the distance to meet his accuser’s. 

Keith looked _devastated._ Lance felt like his heart was being torn (not cleanly, like paper. Grotesquely, like _meat_ ) as Keith’s expression morphed from hurt to furious. To his own horror, a flirtatious smirk lifted the corner of Lance’s mouth, and Keith was pushed off the precipice.

“I can’t _believe_ you. I trusted you! I thought we were _friends_ even if—I should have known. This is exactly like you.” Words flew from Keith’s mouth like fireballs, and Lance felt himself burning in their wake.

_He never trusted you._

The smirk held on Lance’s face, but tears welled in his eyes anyway.

Keith turned his molten gaze on Kyana, and sneered, “you can have him, your excellency or whatever the hell you want to be called. _You deserve each other._ ”

 

And with that, Keith turned on his heel and stormed out of the parlor.

 

Lance watched him leave like a swimmer caught in a riptide watches the shore slip from view. Desperately, with an underlying sense of finality. 

Kyana laughed.

“Oooh, what a temper! And no trust.” Kyana tsked, tapping Lance’s lips with a lazy finger. Lance wished for nothing more than the ability to bite the witch. “Don’t worry my sweet. You won’t have to suffer long. You won’t play nice, so I’ll just have to play dirty.”

Kyana rose from the couch and floated regally over to an open space between the couches and a huge window—the only non-decorative glass Lance had seen in the entire palace. Kyana made some complicated motions with her hands, and a viewport appeared on the glass.

“Commander Marzak.” Kyana greeted, and Lance wished he could curse.

 _Of course she’s with the Galra, you stupid, stupid!_ he berated himself uselessly.

The commander acknowledged her with a wet cough, “what do you want, witch?”

Kyana cooed. “Now now commander, no need to be harsh. I want to discuss our deal.”

The commander, still as greasy and unkempt as Lance remembered from their battle earlier that week, coughed furiously. “Our deal! Our deal was to help you depose the princess for unrestricted access to your hexacite mines. Now you hide behind Voltron! We have no deal.”

Kyana laughed, and this time it was definitely the sound of breaking glass.

“Oh my dear commander, please. A minor detour. Besides, this time I can give you something _much_ more valuable than hexacite.” She hummed gleefully, and the commander mirrored the sound grouchily, unintentionally intrigued.

“What could you possibly give us that would make the loss of our forces worth it?” He demanded, obviously frustrated at her unwillingness to come out and say it.

Lance felt his stomach sink like a rock.

Kyana quit pacing, facing the commander directly, and he sat up straighter, surprised by the forwardness. “My dearest commander,” she purred. “I can give you _Voltron._ ”

 

_______________________________________________

 

Keith’s mind felt like a thunderstorm as he fled from the parlor. He couldn’t even pretend he wasn’t running, his mind consumed with the task of getting as far from that traitor as fast as his legs could carry him. He clenched his fists, nails biting into skin. He’d trusted Lance, and Lance had just-!

He should have never agreed to be friends. He should never have even listened to Shiro and gone to make nice in the first place. _This_ was why he’d been alone for so long. If you didn’t let anyone in, there was no one around to _let you down._

Keith bit his lip, accidentally drawing blood, and in a moment of impulsivity ducked down a dark hallway. He slammed his back against the cool wall, letting himself slide down until he was sitting, crouched and trembling slightly in the dark.

Lance had been so _good._

Everything they’d done together since the minute Lance had decided they were going to be friends had been more than Keith had ever expected to experience. He hadn’t had a real friend for long enough to matter in his entire life, and every minute he spent fully absorbed into his new family felt like a beautiful impossibility. Every stupid joke, every challenge, every time the sun hit Lance’s stupidly handsome face had Keith spinning, equal parts horrified and excited to be feeling things he thought he’d left behind for good. And _god_ , when he had kissed him… Keith had felt the planets shift. Nothing had ever felt more right in the universe.

Lance had been so good. For crying out loud, the idiot burst into tears any time he accidentally said something that might hurt his feelings. Why would he do something so obviously hurtful? Even if Lance _didn’t_ like Keith the way that Keith liked him, it seemed terribly out of character for Lance to do something he _knew_ would upset him. It didn’t make any sense. Lance was definitely a flirt, but he was a good friend, at the very least. Why would he…

 

...Why _would_ he?

 

Keith’s mouth went dry.

 

_Oh no._

 

Keith scrambled to his feet, sprinting back the way he’d come. He cursed himself as he ran, blood pumping furiously as he urged his body to move faster. Finally, the ornate hallway terminating in Kyana’s gigantic parlor door came into view, and Keith swore. 

Unlike the last time he’d come through, the guards were all poised for combat, immediately confirming his suspicions. Keith didn’t give them time to organize themselves before his knife was out, ripping through them furiously. He knocked each one out violently, panting heavily as he dragged open the parlor doors.

_Please, just don’t let me be too late._

 

_______________________________________

 

Lance struggled as hard as he possibly could. He knew there was only one way this was going to end. If she didn’t need him to become queen, and she needed Voltron out of the way, her choice was clear. 

She was going to kill him.

Lance had never been confronted with his own mortality quite so frankly before, and even though his heart was shredded and bleeding, he _still_ just wished Keith was there.

Kyana was striding toward him unhurriedly, power like electricity playing between her hands as she walked. Lance managed to twist, painfully, once—Kyana just smirked at his desperation. With the speed of a viper strike her arm shot out, and Lance found himself ripped from the couch, knocking the expensive tea set off the table and levitating half a foot off the floor. The feeling was disturbingly similar to what he imagined being hung on a meat hook felt like, and he screamed.

“It’s a pity you didn’t want to do this the easy way, my sweet,” Kyana purred, reaching up to run a teasing hand down his arm. “You _were_ awfully pretty.”

“Someone will come for me,” he whispered hoarsely, chest heaving with the pain of her magic.

Kyana laughed, high and manic. “Who? Your paramour hates you, your crew has no clue where you are. This hallway is heavily guarded. I’m sorry my sweet. It’s over for you.”

 

She took a step back, raising her arm again, and Lance knew she was right.

 

He wished he hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning.

 

He should have stayed there, curled up with Keith, oblivious to the horrors that awaited him.

 

Electricity built in her palm, and she pulled her hand back, ready to fire.

 

_I should have told him I loved him._

 

__________________________________________________

 

_”LANCE!”_

 

Keith’s desperate cry tore Kyana’s attention, and Lance hit the floor, crashing painfully into the tile. 

_Not too late._ Keith could have cried in relief. That had been too close—if he hadn’t come to his senses, _Lance would be—_

Keith grit his teeth, and raised his knife, refusing to let himself think about it. He could curse himself later, all he had to do now was get them both out of here safely. 

“Get away from him,” he growled, voice laced with a steel he hadn’t even known he was capable of. Kyana simply raised an eyebrow, amused instead of intimidated. He shifted his grip on the knife, praying someone noticed the mess he’d left in the hall. He glanced over to assess Lance’s condition, and swore. He looked absolutely wrecked, limp and immobilized on the cold tile floor. A small, disbelieving smile turned up the corners of his lips even as his lungs strained for air.

Keith’s blood boiled. 

Kyana cackled. “How _touching!_ The traitor returns to rectify his mistake. I knew you were no hero, mistrusting the people closest to you,” she sneered, eyes murderous. With the nonchalance of someone who was certain they were in no danger, Kyana turned to Lance, one hip cocked coquettishly. 

“Well darling, it looks like you’re in luck,” she smiled horrifically. “I only need to slay one of you to render Voltron useless. Now you can live, as a jewel in my collection. Won’t that be nice?” 

Lance shook his head violently, the motion stunted as if he wasn’t fully in control of his body, throat working as he tried to speak. Kyana reached one arm out toward him, turning her back to Keith, and he saw his opening. With all his considerable speed and training, he rushed in to strike. 

“Oh, you foolish boy,” she tsked, turning to hold her arm out to Keith instead, as if she’d been expecting this. Like a fish on a hook, Keith was pulled roughly away from her, paralyzed and levitating off the ground as Lance had just been lifted. Lance struggled uselessly on the floor, and cold sweat broke out on Keith’s skin.

He _was_ a fool.

He should never have left Lance. He should never have rejected backup. He rushed in every time, letting his emotions get the better of him, fatal flaws were called that for a reason. He looked to Lance.

“I’m sorry,” he coughed through grit teeth, praying the full weight of his regret would reach him.

Lance trashed against his invisible bonds, face stricken. _“NO,”_ he managed to gasp, the desperation in it catching on something in Keith’s chest and _pulling_. “No, _no,_ take me, I’ll marry you, I’ll do anything, _please_ ,” Lance begged, panicked tears streaming down his face. 

Kyana smiled. “What a poignant display. I almost feel bad,” Kyana derided them, “but it is far too late.” 

Lance made a sound Keith could have gone his whole life never hearing. Electricity built in the witch’s spare hand, and she poised to strike. 

“Now say goodbye.”

Keith thrashed heroically, trying to break her hold, but his limbs were not his own. Movement caught in the corner of his eye, and Keith braced himself for the inevitable. Light flashed violently, blinding him. He was hit with an impact—he was falling.

 

_”NO!”_

Kyana’s screech had his eyes flying open, and immediately, he knew the cause.

 

Lance’s body was covering his own, bleeding torrentially from a gaping hole in his side. His hands clutched desperately at Keith’s shoulders, breaths coming short and labored as he shook.

Keith stared helplessly at the carnage, trembling as an anguished cry tore itself from his lungs. The pool of blood was spreading, the warm liquid staining everything. Keith’s hands were red, desperately trying to stop the bleeding—to hold him here. Someone was calling Lance’s name over and over again, voice raw and ragged, and Keith realized as his throat constricted that it was him.

Lance pulled his head up with difficulty, clear blue eyes wet with tears. _”Sorry,”_ He coughed bloodily, an apologetic smile quirking up the corner of his lips. Keith might have screamed. He didn’t know. With a violent seizure, Lance’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he slid to the floor, motionless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please direct all complaints and death threats to [Mikiri](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikiri/pseuds/Mikiri), who encouraged me to stick to my guns when the first version of this chapter ended up mostly fluff.


	12. You'll Regret Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long guys, I really didn't mean to leave you on that last cliffhanger but, alas, here we are. We really are rounding the final stretch here though, so your eternal torment of waiting for chapters will be over soon!
> 
> Thanks again as always for the enthusiasm, and thanks to my beautiful beta asperaadastra for helping me actually finish this chapter. <3

Someone was screaming. Kyana was cursing. A long, lurid stream of profanities that Keith only recognized as such by their vehemence, the language untranslatable. 

“No, no, you fool! You should be my prize, and now you’re what, a blood splatter, for this pretender? Why?!” She was moving for Lance, and the frozen pieces of Keith snapped to attention.

Keith decided that if anyone was going to be screaming, it might as well be him.

His hand connected with his knife, and with a herculean effort, he wrestled himself out from under Lance. He was moving before he could give himself time to think—and if he had stopped for an instant, he might have wondered how he expected to do anything in the face of the witch’s magic—but there was nothing for it. Kyana was coming for Lance. Keith had to stop her.

Kyana saw him sprinting towards her and raised an arm out to halt him, but no paralytic power surged for her. Her face twisted with disbelief, and Keith took advantage of her distraction as she clawed frantically at a blackened, broken crystal hanging from a chain around her neck. With a speed that afforded her little time to blink—let alone defend—and an anguished yell, Keith buried his knife up to the hilt in her stomach. She coughed blood, and, to Keith’s utter horror, smiled.

“Do you think you’ve won, _hero?”_ She sneered. Keith choked. Her eyes glowed with fury and something darker, black tendrils of static energy building around her. “Time to teach you your _place._ ” 

The black static peaked, and exploded in every direction, blasting Keith back with it.

He ducked into a practiced roll, the skin of his chest and shoulder stinging sharply, an ugly burn marring his skin where the dark energy had seared it. He hardly noticed the pain, switching knife hands and scrambling to get his eyes back on his target. Paralysis magic or no, Kyana was fast, and her offensive magic was deadly. She was across the room when his eyes finally locked back onto her, drinking something green and glowing that seemed to be causing her wound to knit itself back together as he watched. Keith narrowed his eyes intently, looking for a place she could have procured the small bottle from.

_If I could get that to Lance, maybe—_

Keith choked on air as he cut off his own train of thought. A voice in the back of his mind urged him to look back, to check and see if Lance was still breathing, but he was too afraid to take his eyes off the demon—was too afraid to know.

Gritting his teeth, he circled his opponent while she was distracted with the bottle. He was behind her by the time she threw it down, crystal container shattering dramatically on the cold marble tiles, her head whipping around frantically to find him. Holding his breath so she wouldn’t hear him, he crouched into a low run, coming at her as fast as possible to catch her off guard.

Cyan irises locked onto his with laser precision, and Keith swore.

“Did you think you were clever, hero?”

She was ready for him, horrible stomach wound a mere afterthought as she watched him raise his knife for the thrust with an almost bored expression. Black energy like tamed lightning crackled around her, and Keith had to spin to the side in a hasty dodge to avoid getting blasted again. He could hardly feel his shoulder with the adrenaline pumping through his veins, but frantic as he was, he wasn’t stupid. Another hit like that, and he’d have a considerably more difficult time disemboweling her again. 

“Stop calling me that,” he seethed, blood simmering.

Kyana laughed, “Does it sting, _hero?_ ” Her eyes took on a crazed light, and she grinned enormously. “Do you _feel_ the lie? Right in your gut.”

 _”Shut up,”_ Keith growled, hating every second she stood breathing.

“How ironic, that the brave hero couldn’t save the one person he cared for most,” the witch cackled, and an animalistic growl rose from of Keith’s throat like it had been dragged out.

“Shut _up!”_

He swiped in with quick movements, but each slice was met with a crackling shield of some kind. Kyana moved with the grace of a dancer, howling with laughter and conjuring her shield as easy as breathing. If Keith hadn’t been busy trying to erase her from the universe, he might have appreciated the artfulness of her defense. Things being as they were, Keith did nothing but resent the studied movements, watching closely for an opening. He stayed in close, attacking with quick strokes that Kyana parried unflinchingly. He kept up the offense, though, a thought slowly beginning to take shape as he hacked at her invisible forcefield.

“Is this fun for you? I’m getting a little bored,” Kyana yawned spitefully, blocking another wild stab with a graceful wave of her hand.

“Shut, the fuck, up,” he growled back, words punctuated by wild swipes of his knife. He moved just a little slower on the last swipe, and Kyana took advantage of the opening. With a force much more impressive than Keith had expected, Kyana hit him squarely in the jaw with a spinning kick, throwing him backwards and splaying him vulnerably across the tile. She lifted her hand, satisfied that she had put enough distance between them, and aimed a bolt of black lightning at Keith.

Keith smirked sickly, and rolled out of the way with time to spare.

_She can’t attack and defend at the same time._

He wiped his lip harshly and readjusted his grip as they squared off.

“Oh give it up _hero_ ,” Kyana spat, circling him slowly, forcing him to moved to keep the distance between them. Keith took comfort in the fact that the path she took across the ornate tiled floor was bloody in her wake—that kick had cost her. “What can you hope to do to me?”

Keith didn’t reply, jaw still clenched forcefully. Trusting his speed and the impulsiveness that kept him alive when logic said he should falter, he sprinted at her again. She raised an arm, black lightning crackling dangerously, but Keith kept course.

“So pathetic,” Kyana growled as she fired in his direction. Keith was ready, rolling smoothly out of the path of her attack and leaping into the air toward her. She turned, faster than expected, throwing a desperate hand out to counter Keith’s new approach, but it was exactly what Keith had been hoping she’d do. She’d misread his distance, lashing out with an offensive strike instead of taking the time required to switch back to her shield. Keith raised his blade as he flew at her, bringing it down two-handed into the junction of her neck and shoulder even as she lashed out with power. The black electricity burned its way up his arms, reaching with scorching tendrils to his chest. The force of the blast blew him backwards again, and this time Keith was one hundred percent positive of exactly who was screaming.

His hands shook violently as he scrambled back up to his feet, and his heart plummeted to see the witch swallowing another glowing potion, throat working to finish the brew before Keith could go back on the offensive. She threw the bottle to the ground, delighting in the sound of it shattering as Keith struggled to grip his weapon.

“Admit it,” she laughed horribly, her bloody teeth making her smile gruesome, “you make a terrible defender of the universe.” Her eyes had gained a disturbing glow, and Keith shook with fury.

“Fuck the universe,” he coughed, voice ragged, “ _You_ hurt Lance.” He took a deep breath and thought of Shiro’s best advice, certain his friend would be horrified at his next words. The thought made him smile grotesquely, and when he looked back up at Kyana he knew it was with murder in his eyes. “I’m gonna end you.”

Something about the rock-solid certainty in his voice must have shaken her, because she frowned and slipped into a better defensive stance. Keith didn’t care. _Lance was—_

It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

Keith dropped into a mad sprint, swerving recklessly as he avoided thunderous strikes of black magic, each one leaving an angry crater in its wake and filling the air with dust and shrapnel. He was on her in an instant, so much faster than she could have expected, fear bright in her unnaturally bright eyes. Keith changed his grip, both hands bracing his knife as he drove it right through her ribs—right where a human heart would be. A horrible roar erupted from him as he strained with the effort. Kyana screamed and clawed at the knife, but Keith just slammed it in deeper, relishing her scream as he twisted it cruelly. She swiped at his face, slicing a bloody streak across it, and he took her down with a practiced sweep to the legs. 

She writhed uselessly, pinned to the floor like a macabre butterfly. He kneeled over her, her cry of agony both a source of sweet satisfaction and deep seated nausea as he searched her for more of the potion that had kept her alive. 

Keith scoured her skirts frantically and growled, “Where is it? _I know you have more_.” 

Blood poured from her wound at a terminal pace. Kyana looked up into Keith’s desperate face, and laughed.

“Go fuck yourself,” she giggled mirthlessly. Keith’s eyes grew wide with surprise as she grabbed him by the arms, her whole body beginning to crackle with deadly electricity. Keith tried to break free, but her grip was like iron, and the satisfied grin on her face steel. 

 

Then she exploded.

 

All Keith knew was pain, and the smell of seared flesh.

 

 

Keith lay on the floor, limbs sprawled unnaturally, the cold of the tile stinging against his burns, and coughed wetly. His ears were ringing so loud he couldn’t tell if it was from the explosion or some kind of horrible alarm, and the entire right side of his body felt like it had been melted off.

With great effort, he managed to roll onto his good side and prop himself up on a wobbly elbow to look for Kyana. When he didn’t immediately see her, he crawled up onto his knees, twisting painfully to scan the entire room for her.

She was gone.

She was gone, and not in the ‘ripped to pieces by her own magic’ way Keith would have rejoiced at. She was _gone_ gone, and Lance was _dead_ , and not only had Keith been unable to protect him, he’d been unable to avenge him. He lay there, numb and broken on the floor, mind racing as he tried to reason through how he could have possibly done better, and surrendered to the anguished sob that rose from someplace deeper than his gut. He cursed himself for leaving Lance alone in the first place, cursed himself for not being faster, cursed himself for not predicting the witch’s final attack. He should have waited, and when she pulled out another potion for herself, he could have made a plan to grab it—

And then he heard it. Quiet, labored, and sharp—

A gasp.

 

His head snapped around fast enough to make him dizzy as he searched for the source of the sound. Unbelievably, unmistakably, _impossibly_ —

 

_Lance._

 

Keith’s gaze narrowed sharply, focused solely on the stuttering expansion and compression of Lance’s chest across the room as he labored for breath. Keith was moving immediately, limbs hardly able to function as he half-ran-half-dragged himself the twenty feet back to where Lance lay, gasping and alive.

 

_Alive._

 

Lance was pale, sweat was plastered his hair to his skull, and a trickle of blood was running from the corner of his mouth. His breathing was distressingly labored. But his eyes fluttered open, and Keith’s heart stopped. Lance’s deep ocean eyes were glassy and unfocused at first, but then he was looking right at Keith, and smiling despite the hole in his side. 

Keith had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. 

“Hey,” Keith breathed, voice shattered. He held one shaky hand to Lance’s face just for a moment, and Lance leaned into the warmth.

“Hey,” Lance breathed back, “Thanks… for coming back.” He coughed painfully, still grinning, and Keith gasped a disbelieving sob. A furious tirade of _of course I came back, I should never have left, this is all my fault,_ screamed in his mind, but he ignored it in favor of doing whatever he could to keep Lance alive in the present. He hurriedly tore a strip of fabric from his already ruined shirt, and shoved the balled up material into the hole in his back, ignoring the agonized cry his actions elicited. He then grabbed both of Lance’s hands, and pressed them hard into the entry wound.

 _“Press as hard as you can.”_ He commanded, hands running apologetically over the sides of Lance’s face, and scrambled to the heavy wooden doors. He heaved them open with all the strength he could muster, fell into the open hallway, still littered with the unconscious bodies of Kyana’s guard, and cried for help.

He yelled as loud as he possibly could, the sound tearing his throat as it escaped him, and his heart pounded hopefully as a pair of palace guards sprinted around the corner at the opposite end of the hallway. Keith gestured frantically at them to follow him, and then raced back into the parlor to Lance.

The bleeding hadn’t stopped, and Lance’s pressure on the wound had weakened considerably in the short time Keith had been in the hall. His eyes were drifting closed as his face became increasingly pale, and Keith’s hands pressed uselessly over the gaping wound, knowing there was no way he could stop the flow on his own. 

“Lance, come on, you gotta stay with me,” he pleaded, fingers curling desperately with Lance’s as he held them down.

Lance’s eyes were beginning to roll back into his head, and Keith swore vehemently. If only he hadn’t left. If only he’d found a way to grab one of those fucking potions. If only, if only.

 

One of the guards knelt hastily at Keith’s side, unstoppering a small bottle and lifting Lance’s head.

“What is that?” Keith asked roughly, though the sight of the glowing green liquid now dripping carefully into Lance’s open mouth was seared into his memory. His heart beat violently with hope.

“Healing draught, for emergencies. It will close the wounds, but we don’t have enough here. We need to get you both to the infirmary immediately. My partner is getting emergency medical, they’ll be here with medical transport—”

Lance interrupted him with a loud and hacking cough, and Keith gripped his hands like he could keep him alive simply by holding on tight enough. The guard waited for the attack to pass, and quickly poured the rest of the potion down Lance’s now much more receptive throat. Immediately, the gruesome hole started to knit itself back together, and Keith thought he might actually pass out in relief. Lance’s chest relaxed into more even breathing, and miraculously, he blinked back into full consciousness.

“Hey,” he rumbled lowly, a dreamy smile sliding into place. Keith had the overwhelming urge to kiss that stupidly self-satisfied smile right off his face. Instead, he busied himself with picking Lance up off the floor. He wasn’t safe yet. There wasn’t enough of the draught, the guard had said so. Keith had to get him to the infirmary. They couldn’t wait. 

_I’m going to keep this asshole alive if it kills me._

He had a difficult time finding purchase through the slick of blood the blue pilot was still laying in, and between the trembling in his limbs, the pleas from the guard to stay still and wait for assistance, and Lance’s stifled cries of pain, he almost didn’t make it to his feet. He knew he was being ridiculous, that the smart thing to do was stay put and wait for help, but he couldn’t stay still while Lance looked like… _that_. Keith’s whole body protested horribly as he oh-so-carefully stood, but he made it, Lance secure in his arms.

The guard sighed defeatedly and jogged slightly ahead to properly direct Keith to the infirmary, and Keith followed at as fast a pace as he could manage.

Limp and shivering as Keith cradled him to his chest, Lance chuckled.

Keith looked down at him, horrified, and Lance laughed harder.

“What is it?” Keith demanded incredulously, legs pumping in agony as he strained to keep up with the guard now sprinting down the hall.

Lance looked up at him with genuine mirth in his eyes, and Keith’s knees nearly gave out. 

_Alive, alive, alive—_

“If I’d known all it took to get you to princess-carry me was...” Lance started, coughed harshly, laughed, coughed again, and continued, “...was a near-death experience, I’d have started getting into trouble way sooner.” Actual tears leaked from his eyes in appreciation of his own joke, even as he traded off between hacking and cackling. Keith’s insides twisted, a bone-deep laugh building in his gut until it ripped itself out of his throat. He stopped running, legs finally giving out, and held Lance to him as he knelt on the hallway floor, face buried in the brunette’s short hair.

“I thought you were dead,” he exhaled breathlessly instead. His voice was shaking, but so was everything else.

“Nah,” Lance coughed, still laughing quietly, “just stupid.”

Keith breathed a disbelieving sigh, chest still shaking with mildly hysterical laughter.

“Hey,” Lance prodded, pushing his nose into Keith’s neck to get his attention.

“What.” Keith replied flatly, arms tight around his stupid, _stupid_ friend.

“I love you.”

The words landed on Keith like the last bit of pressure on an ice shelf before it crashed into the ocean. He clutched at Lance, pulling him as close as possible and burying his face in soft, sweat-and-blood-soaked hair. “You’re the worst,” he sobbed.

“I know,” Lance said quietly, arms reaching around him to hold him back. 

Keith wasn’t actually sure when the last time he’d actually cried was. Tears streamed hot and fast from his eyes now, as they held each other and shook. Keith didn’t protest when two people with a pallet knelt down next to them, gently wresting Lance from his grip and carrying him swiftly away. He didn’t protest when another pallet was laid down for him, either. Lance was safe, and Keith’s adrenaline was fading. Slowly and then suddenly, all the places he’d been burnt lost their blessed numbness. One of the medics waved something blue and glowing over him, causing his eyelids to droop and his pain to fade, and he faded into unconsciousness obediently.

 

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

 

Lance woke up warm.

He blinked into the too-bright light, a moment of panic gripping him as he tried to remember where he was. A quick survey of the room showed that he was undoubtedly in the palace infirmary, and his rapidly speeding pulse slowed. Gauzy white curtains waved peacefully in the large open window, softening the harsh-looking medical devices mounted into the walls and placed around the room. Something that Lance figured had to be an IV dripped leisurely at the foot of the bed he was laid out on, and he traced it’s tube to the bend of his arm. His was the only bed in the room.

No Keith.

Panic raced through him, and he scrambled to remove the IV and get out of bed, hissing at the pain in his side as he twisted. 

Oh, right. He’d kind-of-almost been murdered. 

He leaned heavily on the IV post, and lifted his hospital gown to check the wound. A baseball-sized scar swirled grotesquely just to the lower-right of his belly button, and he blanched at the sight.

_How the fuck did I live through that?_

A familiar rock-slide of a voice boomed in the hallway just outside his door, and Lance looked up with immediate interest. “Slow down, boy. There’s no fire here.”

 _“Where is he?”_ an even more familiar voice growled furiously.

Lance lit up like the sun. 

_Keith._ I love you I love you I love you— 

“Keith,” Lance breathed softly, and then the red paladin was in his arms, holding on for dear life.

Lance had never been happier to be held. He was _alive—_ he was alive and Keith cared, and Keith was just the right height to tuck his face into Lance’s neck as they embraced and that was just _fantastic_ and—

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” Keith whispered brokenly, and Lance gasped at the desperate edge in his voice a shiver running up his spine. He ran a soothing hand through Keith’s hair, humming reassuringly as he tried not to grin.

Keith cared. He cared and Lance had managed to break Kyana’s magic _again_ and he’d saved Keith and they were both alive and he was twenty seconds away from combusting with happiness. The sun streamed reassuringly through the beautiful windows, warm and good, and Lance was probably crying but what did it matter when Keith was crushed so perfectly in his arms?

“I won’t. I won’t,” he promised giddily. He would. He absolutely would. But who could blame him when he had such beautiful people to protect? Keith didn’t need to know that, in any case. Keith should be able to rest easy not worrying that his… whatever Lance was now wasn’t going to leap on every grenade thrown in his path. Keith should be allowed to rest as perfectly as he had been when Lance left that morning.

The thought of resting made his eyes drift longingly to the hospital bed, and he wondered absently if they had time for a very well-deserved nap. Ravig chose that moment to slide into the room, his enormous presence filling the space comfortably, and Lance sighed, knowing his nap would have to wait.

“It is good to see you both recovered. I am so sorry that you have suffered so much at the hand of one of our own,” he said somberly, and Keith turned his head in acknowledgement without releasing Lance.

“Where is our team?” Keith demanded accusatorily. Lance shushed him softly, continuing his soothing ministrations and running his fingers through Keith’s hair.

Ravig looked guiltily down at the floor, his huge easy manner twisted with distress. He took a seat on the corner of the bed, hands folded carefully. “I will tell you,” he began slowly, looking each of them in the eye in turn, “but you must not rush out as soon as you have the answer.” He locked eyes with Keith, sensing that he was the more likely of the two to do just that, and waited until Keith nodded reluctantly.

“Lady Kyana has apparently been planning this coup for years. Your friends were surveying our military with our princess and the king, and the contingent they were surveying turned on them. They were secretly allied with Lady Kyana, and now have them trapped in our prison. My sons have already gone to attempt a jailbreak, and I fear they have not been successful.”

Lance’s throat tightened with worry. Ravig sounded afraid, and that was such a surprising concept Lance wasn’t sure how to handle it. The man was a literal mountain. The idea of fear should never need occur to him. Lance put a reassuring hand on the giant’s arm anyway, looking to Keith for support. “We’ll rescue them. All of them. Everyone we can find,” he said steadily, the freshly healed hole in his side already an afterthought.

Keith frowned in consideration, finally turning fully to Ravig but still holding on to Lance’s hand tighter than he probably knew. “Where is the prison? We’ll need a map, and a plan if we’re going to bust them out. We don’t have our paladin armor, or our bayards—we can’t go in guns blazing if we don’t have any.”

Ravig looked surprised. “Go in? Paladins, you have both just returned to the shores of the living.” He turned to Lance, an expression of extreme concern on his mountainous face, “You may feel better, but you are _not_. The healing draught we fed you was enough to reverse the worst of the damage, but you could still be suffering from internal bleeding, and you are certainly anemic at this time! You need a blood transfusion, and your husband was not a match. You could not possess even half your normal strength!” He turned to Keith, frowning now. “And you! Your burns may be healed, but you are running on fumes from the healing process.” Ravig sighed, long and exhausted, “Please. Wait. Rest.”

Keith and Lance looked to each other, neither wanting to reply in case the other actually disagreed, but knowing they would have the same answer anyway.

“I’m sorry Ravig,” Lance said, returning his attention to the distraught slab of granite. “Kyana’s bringing the Galra back, if they’re not already here. We need Voltron or you won’t have a cute siege this time. You’ll have a war on your hands.”

Ravig’s jaw dropped as if ready to plead with them to reconsider, before thinking better of it, crossing his arms and settling in like a humanoid barricade. “Then at the very least, Keith, please take some of my guards with you, let Lance rest until you can get him to his lion. If he makes one wrong move...” he trailed off ominously, and Keith squeezed Lance’s hand that much tighter.

He glanced up at Lance for only a moment before fixing Ravig with an unsettlingly intense stare.

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry. I don’t know your men, or how they fight. I know Lance like the back of my hand, and he’s a better strategist than me. I need him. I can’t risk leaving him behind when our entire team is on the line. I can’t, I can’t...” He trailed off agitatedly, keeping his gaze focused on the red brick colored tiles that decorated the floor and pointedly away from Lance’s eyes, almost as if he were afraid of the reaction he might find there.

Lance smiled softly, squeezing Keith’s hand in reassurance. “We’ll be okay. I’ll be careful. Scout’s honor.”

Ravig made an uncomfortable noise, grouching out a, “what’s a scout and why would it be honorable?” quietly to himself even as he crumbled under Lance’s earnest expression.

He sighed enormously, dropping his arms and rising back up to his feet. “Follow me. We’ll fit you with what weapons and men I can give you.” He tromped out of the room, and Lance moved to follow.

Keith however, did not. With a gentle tug on the hand he still held, Keith drew him back into the room, and Lance’s blood buzzed pleasantly as they faced each other. Keith looked torn, but he finally released Lance, hands rising stutteringly to Lance’s cheeks, and Keith gently, carefully pulled him down to place a soft, chaste kiss on the taller boy’s lips. 

Lance felt like he’d been ignited, every molecule of his being singing happily. “Yeah,” he breathed giddily as Keith pulled away, “I can definitely get used to that.”

Keith burst into surprised laughter, and teased, “Just make sure you live long enough to develop a habit.”

Lance held up his pinky like the child he was, the grin on his face so wide he was sure his mother would warn him it would get stuck that way if he held it any longer. Keith snorted at the pinky, but raised his own to intertwine with Lance’s anyway. Lance’s grin was absolutely in danger of becoming a permanent fixture.

“Now let's go save our friends.”


	13. Renegade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY YOU'VE ALL WAITED SO LONG FOR THIS. I hope it lives up to your expectations DX. Only 2 chapters left!

Lance’s side throbbed dully as he followed Keith and Ravig down a secret passage he would normally describe as “amazing,” or _“so freaking cool are you seeing this,”_ but was currently too preoccupied to really notice. His wound hurt in inconsistent waves, washing in sharp and uncomfortable, washing out dull and tiring. He sighed wearily.

_It would be so nice to sit down and let someone else save the planet just this once._

They reached the end of the tunnel and Lance realized Ravig had led them back to the underground bazaar, the passage letting out just behind the master craftsman’s workshop. A patrol of palace guards passed, not noticing the trio in the shadows of the secret passage. Ravig held his hand out to wait, since the guards were indistinguishable between friend or foe. Keith moved like he was going to take them out regardless, even though he was empty-handed and over-tired. Lance’s heart rate spiked painfully and he gripped the stubborn and impulsive pilot’s shoulder to pull him back against the wall, trying to inject his desire for Keith to “just _wait_ ” telepathically into his stupid hot-head. Keith tensed like he was going to fight _him_ for an instant, but almost as quickly he nodded apologetically and turned to watch the guards until they were out of sight. Ravig lead them out of the passage without comment, and Lance grit his teeth. 

He couldn’t leave this to Keith by himself even if he could trust the loyal guards. Even stronger than the ache in his side was a sort of nervously buzzing undercurrent to every move he made, quietly insisting that if Lance let Keith out of his sight for any longer than an instant, he’d do something foolish or brave or both and Lance would never see him again.

Like he was picking up on Lance’s thoughts psychically after all, Keith slipped a hand into his and squeezed quickly, face flushing red, expression sorry.

Lance laughed.

Tension flooded out of him

At first Keith looked confused and possibly offended, but as Lance giggled quietly to himself slowly his serious expression broke, replaced by innocent confusion. 

“Come on Mr. Shoot First,” Lance whispered, still chuckling slightly. He brought the hand entwined with Keith’s up to his lips, placing a reverent kiss on his pale fingers. “Let’s go.”

Keith looked like he was about to dissolve in embarrassment, and then took a breath to regain his cool. He flashed a brilliantly flirty smile, and defended, “Hey, I ask questions sometimes.” He inched further into Lance’s personal space, still grinning like a cheshire cat, and Lance gulped.

“Is this really the time?” Ravig asked in a muffled boom that was a poor excuse for a whisper. Lance coughed, and they sprang apart—but Lance didn’t let Keith take back his hand.

“With all due respect, sir, we almost died there a second ago and I hadn’t told him I loved him yet, and the psychopath that tried to kill us is still apparently _around_ somewhere. I’m not going to waste time when the chances of us seeing tomorrow are this slim.” Lance held his head high, maintaining eye contact with the smith unapologetically. It was a crazy feeling, coursing through his gut now. He should have been panicking—probably _was_ panicking, subconsciously—but all he could feel was a voltaic sense of determination. He was so tired he could fall over at any moment, his side one giant ache that stole his concentration, but none of that mattered. He was going to keep Keith alive. He was going to save his friends. And he was going to flirt shamelessly while he did it. Because you know what?

Fuck it, that’s what.

Ravig sighed, deflating a little and smiling softly. “This is why they don’t encourage marriage for love here, you know.”

Keith snorted. “I’d literally be dead right now if he didn’t love me, so I think I’ll keep our way.”

Lance felt hot tears hit the floodgates of his eyes, and his heart beat so hard it hurt. He squeezed Keith’s hand and shot him the most devastating smile in his arsenal, certain the effect was ruined by the wetness in his eyes, but Keith smiled back softly, and Lance feared his heart might actually explode.

Ravig shook his head, chuckling, and lead them around the corner to his workshop.

 

The shop was exactly as Lance remembered it, with one notable exception: it had been completely taken over by palace guards.

A communication console had been set up in the front by the couches, with two guards frantically reciting orders into crystal headsets while a third stood behind them, checking things off on a holographic tablet that seemed to have a carved stone frame. Several others were scurrying from one side of the shop to the other, organizing what looked like weapons stores and outfitting their comrades as they came in. 

One guard stood in the center of the chaos examining a holographic map of the palace, calling commands clearly to each crew in the makeshift hub. She was exceptionally tall, with large, distinctive features and a thin scar on the outside of her brow that made her striking. Her voice was calm and assertive, and the soldiers under her command seemed to flourish under her direction, each standing up straighter and breathing more slowly, focused on their tasks and not the panic that was simmering just beneath the surface in each of them, begging for a weak link. Lance and Keith had ducked behind a workbench to survey the situation, but Ravig walked in like he owned the place, which, well, he did.

No one missed him, and how could they—he strode through as loud and unstoppable as a glacier. The commanding guard half-turned to acknowledge him as he boomed, “Riila? What are you doing here?”

The guard—Riila—sighed hugely and turned to fully face the giant.

“HQ was taken,” she said calmly, but Lance could see the muscles in her jaw stand out. “Over half the staff turned traitor, and we were forced to retreat. Your shop is the next best location since you have all this equipment lying around anyway, so we moved in.” She waved a hand nonchalantly. “Sorry for the mess.” She did not sound sorry. Riila turned to a guard who was about to drop a container full of glass vials, rushing to help balance the weight and calling quick orders to her soldiers, who immediately reorganized to better transport the incoming cargo. Lance felt a spark of admiration, and coughed to avoid possible mooning.

Riila’s head turned sharply to Keith and Lance’s hiding place at the sound. Ravig rumbled at them to stand, and with a quick glance at each other they emerged, Lance feeling more than a little sheepish and Keith looking mostly annoyed.

“Riila—ahem,” Ravig cleared his throat at a pointed glare from the guard, “—Captain, we need anyone you can spare to go with these paladins on a rescue mission.”

Riila stilled, eyes locked somewhere in the distance. It looked for a moment like she’d been frozen, and Lance had just enough time to develop goosebumps and a cold sweat before Riila snapped her eyes back to them.

“Are you telling me that you have reliable information on where they took the princess?” She asked quietly, voice hard. 

Ravig nodded, face serious. “She’s in the dungeon, with the other paladins. Your brothers were in the unit they were inspecting—they went in after her, but they’ve stopped responding.” The slight hitch in Ravig’s voice had Lance’s heart twisting, and the mirrored pain on Riila’s face only made it worse. Suddenly, his brain caught up to itself.

“Wait a minute, is this your daughter?” Lance blurted the question, unsurprised when Riila turned a highly unimpressed look toward him.

“You will address me as ‘Captain’.” Her tone brooked no room for argument.

“Yes, Captain.” Lance recovered quickly, standing straighter and ducking ever so slightly behind Keith, who snorted. Riila nodded sharply, and turned back to her father.

“If Dex and Tarin are with her, I’m sure there is at least a chance she still lives, assuming they were smart enough to pretend to be turncoats?” her sentence trailed off in a question, aimed at Ravig. The mountain nodded, but did not look hopeful.

“No one will believe them. They are your brothers.” The tone of his voice was as final as a tomb. Lance shivered at the sound.

Keith seemed to notice his distress, and put a hand on the back of his neck, massaging it gently. Lance leaned into it, surprised and relieved to find the simple touch was a match for his building anxiety. He turned to meet dark violet eyes and smiled gratefully. 

“We’ll get them out,” Keith said with certainty, tearing his blazing eyes away from Lance to lock onto the captain and her father. Riila gave him a once-over, having mostly ignored the paladins since Ravig informed her he knew where the Princess was, and sneered.

“You’ll do no such thing. This is Tuarikian business, you have no place going on a rescue mission here when my soldiers are already well versed in—”

“What soldiers?” Keith asked harshly. Lance winced in sympathy as Riila cast around her headquarters, each and every non-essential guard having left to the defense of the palace as they’d spoken. “You’re outmanned and our friends are in there. We’re going whether you want us to or not,” the fire in his words faded slightly as the captain stared him down, remembering to be respectful too late after the fact, but his resolve remained iron. "You might as well help us." 

The unusually genuine request hung heavy in the air as Keith and the captain held their contest of wills, neither willing or able to give ground. Ravig laid a hand gently on his daughter's shoulder.

"Riila, they saved her once when we could not. Let them do it again," the volcanic rumble of Ravig's encouragement was as soothing and persuasive as it could be, and yet Riila was not soothed. 

Fire burned behind her eyes, and she stood straighter, tall and imposing.

"No. I refuse to leave her rescue to strangers again. I am Captain of the Royal Guard. I will do this myself."

"You can't go alo—" Ravig began, frightened and angry.

" _—Then we will do this together._ " Riila yelled, her professional bearing breaking suddenly in frustration, raising her hands to put distance between herself and her father. "I cannot leave her," she nearly sobbed, throat tight, fists clenched.

Ravig stepped back respectfully, putting his hands behind his back and giving Riila space to recompose herself. She took it instantly, standing sharp and polished again as if nothing had happened. Lance's heart stuttered, full of panic for his own friends already, the muscle stretching in his chest to make room to fear for this imposing woman and her kind princess as well. 

Riila's sharp eyes turned on them, and Lance stood straighter, schooling his face into something serious and acceptable. He could already tell this was the sort of woman who'd take empathy as pity, and he certainly did not pity her. "Gather what armaments suit you, we leave at once." 

Lance looked to Keith, the slight nod between them a silent agreement to go along with this, and they made for the weapons stash.

 

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

 

Lance was _tired._

The corridor they were traveling through was close and dark, devoid of all the intricate decoration Lance had failed to appreciate when they’d been following Ravig. Apparently, the previous corridors had been built by a great queen who had ruled during a time of civil unrest, to allow the royal family safe escape from the palace. The tunnels they traveled through now had been built by Riila’s own ancestors at the same time, but they’d functioned as a sort of underground railroad for people escaping the violence. They had no decoration, only the quiet gloom of a last hope. There was a patrol due in a few meters, and Lance’s side was throbbing painfully to the beat of his pulse. He could do with a little adrenaline, right about now.

"I'm sorry," Riila said suddenly, interrupting the silence. She hadn't said much since they'd left the makeshift control room, mostly just quick descriptions of where they were going and what to expect when they got there. To hear her apologize now was unexpected.

"For what?" Lance asked amicably, not eager to get on her bad side. They'd hit their first patrol already, several minutes after entering the secret passage when they’d had to cross some servants quarters, and she'd taken out one of the two guards with such ruthless efficiency he wasn't even sure Keith could beat her in a fight. Keith had however taken out the third guard with his typical skill, and Riila had seemed less inclined to dislike them after that.

"For my... unwillingness to cooperate, earlier," the captain explained reluctantly. "I may have been jealous."

"Jealous?" Lance repeated dubiously. Why would anyone be jealous of them? He glanced to Keith, but the red pilot didn't look at all confused.

"I wasn't able to save the princess for nearly a month during the siege. It's my duty—my entire purpose—to protect her, and she was stolen from me twice. And you..." she trailed off, eyes glancing to Keith, before frowning at her feet.

"Fighting the Galra is what we do. You should be proud that your world was only under siege, and not completely enslaved," Keith said simply. Riila nodded shortly.

"It's becoming quite easy to see how they conquered nearly the entire universe," she laughed darkly. "I should thank you for being here at all. You certainly aren't heroes for show."

The trio rounded a corner, and Lance slowed instinctively at the nearly imperceptible sound of footsteps.

“Quiet, they’re coming,” Riila ordered, holding up a hand. The three of them melted into the shadows, Lance bringing up his strange crystal laser-rifle a little nervously. The thing was crazy accurate and horrifyingly lethal, requiring little to no adjustments for distance or environment. It was just a pretty instrument of instant murder.

Slowly, slow enough that Lance’s skin started to itch with impatience, the rebel guards meandered into the light. Then it was if suddenly someone had hit fast forward—Keith and Riila moved like shadows, at their sides with knives to throats before the traitors could so much as blink. Lance followed as fast and fluid as he could, cutting off their exit with his laser sight expertly trained between one set of eyebrows, then the other.

“Tell us where the Princess is,” Riila demanded, her tone quiet and serious. 

The guards’ jaws dropped in unison, clearly shocked that their route had been infiltrated. The one on the left in Riila's grip quickly recovered, snapping his mouth shut and leveling them all with a defiant stare. The one on the right however started to fidget. “She’s on the first floor, in holding,” he burst out, hurried and distraught. His partner turned to him with a hiss, and the one who spoke flinched to the side, Keith keeping his knife just above skin despite the movement. He looked at Riila imploringly and spoke fast, “there are twenty guards in the prison, four upstairs, two per stairwell, and twelve on the ground. They’re going to execute her, Captain. I thought—I didn’t…”

Riila stared back at him like a statue, no glimmer of forgiveness in her eyes. “You’re right. You didn’t.”

With not even an ounce of sympathy, she whipped her knife around, hitting him squarely in the back of the head and knocking him out. The hissing guard moved immediately, trying to use Riila’s distraction to grab his weapon, or escape, or something. He didn’t get a chance to do anything however, because Lance was already moving, rifle spinning in his hands to let him strike the traitor straight under the jaw with the butt of it. The man crumpled bonelessly to the ground next to his unconscious colleague.

“Wow Lance, that was actually pretty impressive.” Keith said with mild surprise. Lance immediately bristled.

“What do you mean that was ‘actually impressive’, I’m always impressive!” he whisper-yelled, closing some of the distance between them so he could get up in the dark-haired pilot’s face. 

Keith laughed. “Yeah, I guess you are lately, aren’t you,” he said, voice a little lower and rougher than Lance had been expecting.

It might have caused him to short circuit. Maybe.

“Wh-I-you— _yeah_ ,” he spat finally, and as Keith shifted a little closer, still grinning, he blushed furiously at the proximity. Keith reached up and carded his fingers through the hair at lance’s temple, kissing the spot gently, and then dropped his hand to tangle with Lance’s and start leading him further down the passage.

“Come on sharp-shooter, let’s go,” he said smoothly, full of earth-shaking confidence. Lance’s skin tingled with electricity as his brain refused to reboot.

 

Riila laughed.

 

“Oh my god, you two are awful,” she derided good-naturedly as she jogged to catch up, like their embarrassing behavior had cleared the last of the darkness from her thoughts. Lance was pretty sure he’d never flushed redder in his life, and considering the extreme levels of mortification he’d been forced to suffer lately, that was saying something.

“WE’RE NOT—wait a second,” Lance started, ready to defend his honor, when something triggered in his memory.

He knew that laugh.

"Hey, Riila," he began conversationally, now jogging dutifully behind her with both hands on his rifle as they made their way down the dark and labyrinthine corridor, “you didn’t happen to be at the pool last night, did you?”

He phrased the question casually, and waited. Keith gave him a quick raised eyebrow, and turned his attention forward again.

The captain was obviously a woman of strength, expert at hiding emotion and looking professional. But Lance had caught her unawares after she had relaxed, and the simple act of slipping into a serious expression again was enough to confirm his suspicions. 

"What the hell, you totally were! That was totally you laughing. Were you laughing at us? That’s messed up, man. Were you _spying on us?"_ Lance went off, unable to keep the torrent of words contained. Just thinking of somebody seeing that kiss and laughing about it was making his skin crawl. That moment was sacred—a piece of perfection that he couldn’t stand the thought of tarnishing.

Keith saw the panic building and laid a hand on his shoulder before he could start doing something as silly as hyperventilating. He wasn’t sure why he was getting so worked up, but it had Riila quick to placate him, at least.

"No, no, I mean, yes, it was me at the pool, but I wasn't laughing at you, I swear," she said earnestly, one hand to her chest over what could have been her heart. "I was—" she cut herself off, blushing suddenly. She seemed to steel herself, and continued, "I was laughing at Yiva. We were hidden in an alcove, and she was worried you would see us. We hadn't realized you were there."

Gears started turning quickly in Lance's brain. "So, wait, the reason the princess is so gung ho about me and Keith, and marrying for love and stuff, is that because of you? And Ravig! Is he just like, a really cute dad, is that what's happening," he rambled, each piece of the puzzle fitting into place as he spoke. Riila blushed harder the longer he talked, and his heart started beating slower, as the truth became apparent. The innocent nature of it all settled Lance's nerves like a balm.

He gave the intimidating woman another once-over, a warm smile breaking out over his features.

"Come on Captain, let's go save your princess," he said encouragingly, and the three of them took off down the corridor with purpose.

 

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

 

The dungeon prison was cylindrical, two stories, with only one entrance. The plan was simple. Riila would go in first, using her credentials to bypass the security if they hadn’t shut her out, and using her fists and a master override if they had. She would secure the security HQ and hopefully undo the locks on whichever cells their friends were being held in, while Lance and Keith made their way up to the second floor. Keith would take care of any guards on that floor while Lance set up a sniping position, and then Keith and Riila would reconvene to run in and draw fire so Lance could pick off any remaining guards while giving them cover. After everyone was put down, they’d gather and use the HQ to figure out what had happened to their lions (since _something_ must have, otherwise Blue and Red should have razed the castle already in search of them).

It was simple. No problem. 

 

 

...Except for the one problem. That problem being that this was just like that stupid training exercise they’d been doing before any of this mess had happened. The one Lance had bombed spectacularly. 

“Let’s go,” Riila said seriously, nodding her head down the corridor towards the exit that would lead them to the dungeon entrance.

Lance gulped, hands shaking slightly, and followed her and Keith down the passage. It opened onto a wide, sterile hallway, much more reminiscent of a modern earth-jail than any “dungeon” Lance had imagined. A plain glass automatic door was all that separated the trio from processing and HQ. Riila backed both boys up against the wall, urging them to stay still.

“They can absolutely see us right now. I’m banking on the idea that they’re not paying attention, since they don’t know about the secret path in and no guards have raised an alarm. I’m going to head in first, once I give the signal you two follow. Until then, just freeze.”

The two paladins nodded their understanding—Lance trying hard not to let her choice of words drive his pulse any faster—and she slipped down the hallway towards the exposed glass doors. 

She held up a crystal ring to some sort of scanner by the side of the door, and Lance was startled but not exactly surprised to see it wasn’t automatic at all—it was magic, and it simply phase shifted to let her through.

“Figures,” Keith huffed quietly, and Lance struggled with a smile.

 

This was going to go so badly.

 

Not even a minute passed before Riila reappeared in the doorway, beckoning at them to head in. The two paladins sprinted quickly for the doors, safely inside before anyone could blink.

Inside was a typical surveillance room, full of desks and monitors that should be ripe with security guards, but was left suspiciously empty. “Alright, we got lucky and HQ was only being run by these two idiots,” she gestured to two unconscious Tuarikian guards, haphazardly piled in a corner, “so we’re clear in here. Keith, Lance, you two head upstairs, I’ll try and get a read on what’s happening on the floor.” 

The paladins nodded and headed for the staircase she had gestured to, before stopping quickly again at a soft exclamation from the captain.

“Wait—take these,” she said, pulling two earpieces off the comatose guards and fiddling with them for a moment. She tossed one to each of them, and Lance couldn’t pretend he wasn’t relieved. Wiping his surreptitiously on his pant leg before putting it on, the captain’s “testing, testing” coming through reassuringly loud and clear.

“Good thinking,” Keith said gratefully, putting his in with a nod and jogging towards the stairs.

“Good luck,” Riila said sharply, and Lance gave her the most confident look he could muster, which was probably not convincing enough even for the most gullible. Thankfully, Riila said nothing as Lance hurried to catch up with his partner.

 

Lance emerged to the second floor just in time to watch Keith silently lower a guard to the ground, her cohort already looking like he was sleeping peacefully off to the side. They shared a quick look, and Keith touched a hand delicately to Lance's temple one more time before slinking off to find the other guards that were supposedly prowling. Lance moved to find a good vantage point—of which there were plenty—since the second floor was a ring with an open center, nothing but a half-wall separating him from the floor below. He was just settling in with his rifle when a quiet but vehement _"Shit!"_ rang through his earpiece.

 _"What’s the situation?"_ came Keith’s response, tense but professional.

Lance got a view of the floor below, and gasped.

Princess Yiva was chained on a platform in the center of the open space, flanked by two hulking guards also chained to the floor who must have been Riila's brothers. All twelve of the guards their informant had warned them about surrounded them on the ground in an arc, like they were lined up to watch something. One of them stood up on the platform, a particularly large and threatening looking man, holding a pistol (sure it was all crystal and see-through, but a hand-held deadly projectile weapon was obvious no matter the construction) to the princess’ head while giving some sort of speech to the guards.

“Bad, very bad.” Lance relayed frantically when Riila failed to respond. “Looks like they’re about to execute the princess, no visual on our friends.”

Bad quickly turned to worse as Lance watched Riila be marched out into the center of the floor by even more guards, hands tied behind her back and a pistol between her shoulder-blades. 

"Shit!” Lance cursed through the mic.

 _"Lemme guess,"_ Keith panted on the other end of the line, _"This was a trap."_

“Bingo,” Lance sighed. “What do we do? They’re surrounded, if I start picking off guards one of them might take them out before Yiva can get free—” he babbled in panic, only the sounds of fighting coming in response on Keith’s end.

“Let her go Lieutenant. I order you as Captain of the Royal Guard. Let her go now and your sentences will be reduced.” Riila demanded regally, standing up straight as if she'd wandered out entirely of her own volition.

The large man turned to her with a decidedly evil chuckle. “Oh, Captain, how nice of you to join us. We were hoping you’d show up in time, after all it’s inappropriate to execute traitors without the proper justice officials—”

“How dare you!” Yiva hissed, earning herself a blow to the face that had her staggering. Riila struggled forward, breaking out of the weak hold she was in, but the rest of the guards moved to meet her with pistols raised. Her brothers also attempted to surge, but they were beaten and bloody, too weak to pose any threat.

The lieutenant wiped his now bloody fist off on his jacket like a dandy brushing off dust. “How dare I?” He turned to the princess, one eyebrow raised haughtily. “You have done nothing to protect us from the Galra. All you speak of is peace, and yet you cannot even secure a marriage with the paladins to save us. Lady Kyana has done all in her power to keep us from being subjugated! It’s what they say anyway: if one cannot beat the strong, one must join them and become stronger, no?” He smiled grotesquely. Yiva looked like she had been crushed, the simple idea that her people could believe so wrongly about her more than she could bear. But then she looked to Riila, and seemed to gain strength.

“You think I have done nothing? I spent _months_ being interrogated by those monsters, and not once did I reveal state secrets. They learned nothing of our mines, or our magic! Kyana doesn’t want to _protect_ you! She wants power—” She was interrupted by another blow, this one leaving her spitting blood. Riila was yelling bloody murder, unable to move with every gun not trained on the princess aimed directly at her.

“Your lies are useless now, princess. You have been judged.”

The sounds of scuffling ceased over the earpiece with a loud and final ‘CRACK’, and Lance looked up to see Keith standing alone three quarters of the way around the ring. _”That should be all of them, I’m going in.”_ Keith said over the link.

“What? No, they’ll shoot, Keith! Wait—”

But of course he didn’t. Lance watched in horror as the red paladin leaped over the low wall, falling a whole story to land in a practiced roll. Before anyone could react, he was tearing into soldiers. Riila took advantage of the chaos and ducked out of her captor's hold. The two managed to get close enough for Keith to skillfully swipe his knife through Riila's bonds, and the captain took full advantage of her freedom by punching one of the turncoats in the nose and stealing his gun. It was pandemonium, the two skilled fighters a whirlwind of aggression in the sea of enemies. The big man backed up on his raised platform.

“You! You’re supposed to be dead!” he yelled indignantly, pointing at Keith. Keith didn’t bother with a verbal response, choosing instead to sink his blade into another guard, and then push the wounded man off the weapon with his foot.

The lieutenant shook his head, backing up further. “Fuck this,” Lance heard him say clearly, raising his pistol once again to the princess’ head.

“YIVA!” Riila screamed, fighting towards the platform even as multiple guards pulled her down.

And then he was flat on the ground, writhing and screaming, a gory hole in his shoulder just big enough to see though.

Riila looked up to Lance’s position, eyes sparkling with tears and disbelief, the gratitude in her expression palpable. Keith merely smirked, and charged back into the fight with renewed vigor. Lance shook. His side felt bloody, the feeling of missing flesh echoing through him grotesquely. Everything was suddenly freezing, except for the rifle in his hands, which burned like the sun. 

A guard lifted his gun to Keith, too far away and behind for the red paladin to notice.

Lance must have fired, because suddenly that guard was splayed out on the cold ground, bleeding neon from another horrible hole in the shoulder.

Lance almost threw up, bile rising hot and acidic in his throat. But then there was another guard aiming for Riila, and then another at Keith, and before he could blink every single one of them was on the ground, incapacitated. Not that he was sure he could blink.

Still feeling like if he opened his mouth he would vomit, Lance scrambled back down the stairs to the control room. Everything seemed to be on autopilot—He located the cells their friends were in, watching Keith and Riila carefully extricate Yiva from her chains on the monitors. He moved limbs that lacked any feeling and hurried to the unconscious guards, rifling through their uniforms for authorization crystals like Riila had carried. He found one, moved back to the panel, swiped the crystal and unlocked the cells. He watched as his friends poured from their prisons, each of them running to the center to help with Yiva and commend Keith with over-enthusiastic hugs and friendly pats on the back. Hunk stood up, looking around, and even though there was no sound on the monitors, Lance could tell he was looking for him.

 

Suddenly the idea of seeing his friends was too much. He slid haphazardly to the ground, back pressed against the desk, head in his hands. He felt like a miniature big bang was happening inside him, all of his molecules shooting apart at incredible speeds, and at the same time he was nothing—a void. He thought he might come apart entirely, even as a small voice in the back of his mind insisted he already had. Everything was too bright and too dark and he thought maybe he’d passed out, except that he was painfully aware of the feeling of every single breath as it rattled through his lungs, in and out his nose way too fast. 

 

Slowly, Lance registered rough hands touching his face. He had no idea how long they’d been there, but they were warm, and even as his world narrowed to pinpricks and exploded into _everything_ , they felt solid, and safe. His eyes focused, and dark indigo pools sharpened into a familiar set of eyes. A messy lock of dark hair obscured one of them, and Lance felt his hand reach up to brush it out of the way on it’s own. The eyes crinkled in a smile, and Lance was suddenly a tangible thing again. He wrapped his arms around Keith—solid, warm, _whole_ Keith—and sobbed quietly.

“You saved everybody,” Keith said simply, the smile tinting his voice kindly. 

Lance’s heart resumed beating.

“Come on buddy, let’s go,” Keith’s smile widened further, and he stood, helping Lance back up with him.

“Lance!” Hunk cried exuberantly, enveloping him completely in a warm hug. Lance cried a little more, letting himself melt into it. Pidge smacked him, looking suspiciously teary-eyed. Allura and Shiro smiled warmly from a little further back, each holding up one of Riila's beaten brothers. Coran tried to lift both Lance and Hunk in a bear hug and very nearly broke his back again.

Slightly behind everyone, Riila and Yiva embraced. Yiva caught Lance’s eye, mouthing a heartfelt ‘thank you’ to him as she clung to her Captain.

Lance flushed, but it was nice. A good feeling. A safe feeling.

 

Lance was warm.


	14. Once More, With Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE ALMOST THERE.
> 
> A billion thank yous to everyone (still) reading this. You're literally the best humans in the universe.

Keith had only been happier to see Shiro once, and that was when they had miraculously found him in the crash-landed pod back on Earth. Watching him give orders on what their next move should be from the impromptu control room in Ravig’s workshop was such a relief he could physically feel the adrenaline fading from his veins.

Unfortunately, he still kinda needed it.

He had given the team the short answer to “what happened when you went to find Lance this morning”, leaving out as much of the gore and personal failure as he could. Even the simple answer was enough to leave the entire team overly concerned about Lance, who had to reassure each of them that he was still in once piece, just tired. Keith was pretty sure Hunk was still on the verge of tears now, and he couldn’t blame him in the slightest. Now that the immediate difficulty was over, he felt his own energy leeching out with the adrenaline. It was almost all he could do to sit upright in the Ravig’s big entertaining chair. He rolled his head over to see how their resident martyr was faring, laid out on the couch next to him to rest at the craggy craftsman’s insistence. He was out cold now, unsurprisingly—after their ordeal in the dungeon Keith had practically had to carry the injured pilot all the way back to safety. It seemed the wound in his side was still definitely more than nothing, regardless of Lance’s reassurances. Keith couldn’t wait to get home and throw the idiot headlong into a healing pod.

Keith stiffened suddenly as his own choice of words hit him. He’d thought of the Castle of Lions as home. That was, odd. New. Different.

Keith let his eyes rake over the blue paladin’s unconscious form, and let out a soft huff.

“Keith? How does that sound to you?” Shiro asked, startling Keith out of his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what?” he said dumbly, shaking his head and dragging himself over to where Shiro, Allura, Yiva, and Riila were deliberating. Shiro pat his arm bracingly, a simultaneous excusal for his exhaustion and encouragement for him to pay attention just a little longer.

Pidge leaned over the holographic map they were all circled around and pointed helpfully at their goal. “The Galra have erected some sort of barrier around the Castle of Lions that’s keeping them and our lions in, and us out. Scouts and sensors in the area say there are three power supplies feeding this thing, and Riila had the lovely idea to blow them all up to shut it down.”

Keith threw the captain a sharp smile. “Sounds great. How are we getting there?”

Riila’s own smile turned wicked, “think you can drive as fast as you did at the tournament while being shot at?”

Keith barked a surprised laugh, “I think it’d be obvious that that would only make me go _faster_.”

“Perfect, then. We’ll get each of you a speeder. Everyone will get a pack of explosives, and we’ll set three people to a target. Two can be decoys while the last goes in to plant the bombs,” Riila said with a commanding tone, pleased with the decision.

Keith balked.

“Hey, uh, wait a tic. Teams of three means Lance has to go in, right?” he asked rhetorically. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” He threw a look over his shoulder at the unconscious paladin, momentarily remembering how he looked only hours ago, bleeding to death on a fancy tiled floor. He felt his skin start to go clammy, and shook the image from his mind. “I don’t think he should be… overextending himself, now that the team is back together.”

Naturally, Lance had to wake up just in time to hear Keith voice his concerns. Maybe he’d never really been asleep.

“Maybe _you_ should sit out, Mr. I-burned-half-my-skin-off-and-tried-to-shrug-it-off-like-it-was-no-big-deal,” Lance taunted from the couch.

Keith felt his insides freeze. “At least you couldn’t literally see through the middle of me!” He snapped back, stress and the ingrained habit of bickering with Lance making him incapable of thinking before he spoke.

Lance was halfway through yelling, “Well I’m solid now, asshole!” when Hunk lost the battle with his tear ducts.

“Lance, what the quiznak!” He yelled while crying freely, moving to re-inspect his best friend for injury. It took him no time at all to find the giant, twisting scar in Lance’s gut, which was now purple and raw and more than a little disgusting.

The entire room gasped at the sight of it. Keith saw red.

“You _idiot_ —” he started, moving toward Lance as well, blind with fury that the pilot hadn’t said anything, had willingly put himself back in danger even when—

“Paladins, excuse me,” Yiva interrupted, her calm, clear voice cutting through the tension with precision. She made her way slowly to the couch where Lance sat, and Hunk moved aside respectfully. “If you would allow me, I can heal this further,” she offered, somewhat hesitantly. “Healing magic is not my strong suit, but you saved my life, and if I did not do what I could to assist now I would never be able to live with myself.”

The gentle pleading expression on her face seemed to win over Lance, who had been defensively covering the wound with his hands. He sighed loudly, taking his hands away to allow her near the gnarled scar.

The princess frowned at it. “Our emergency healing draught is potent, but not delicate. I’m going to touch you now, to see what internal damage you might still suffer, alright?” she said softly, hands hovering a few inches over his skin. Lance swallowed visibly, and nodded to let her continue. Yiva laid her hands gently on either side of the scar, and gasped. She looked up into his eyes, some sort of silent conversation passing between them, before she exhaled a quick laugh and closed her eyes.

Keith couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting. A soft blue light was emanating from the area around Yiva’s hands, obviously meant to heal and comfort, but Lance’s jaw was clenched tight, and Keith’s hands twitched to wipe away the sweat beading at his temples. This was obviously not comfortable, and while Keith knew deep down he should just be patient and let it happen, he still shook with nervous energy.

“Don’t hurt him,” Keith begged, unable to keep his apprehension in check. Yiva didn’t respond, eyes closed in concentration, but Riila snorted.

“The healing process is not always painless, but your husband will be fine,” she assured him, arms crossed.

The word ‘husband’ sent a small shock through Keith, and he looked up, locking eyes with Lance like they’d been magnetized. Lance threw him a sly smile through the pain, and Keith’s stomach flipped.

His mind pulled up the memory of those deep ocean eyes crinkled up in awful laughter, just before…

 

_“I love you.”_

 

 

Holy shit.

 

Keith looked down to his feet quickly, clenching his left fist and determinedly trying not to look at the jewelry he knew he still wore there.

He failed.

The swirling blue was no less deep and inviting than the one he’d just forcefully torn his gaze from.

 

 

_Holy shit._

 

 

Another moment passed, and then Keith was pulled to look at Lance again by the sound of a long sigh of relief. Yiva was taking her hands away, the grotesque swirl of scar minimized to a much less concerning size and color. The princess panted slightly as she stood back up, Riila swooping in to offer an arm for support.

“The internal damage has been mitigated, you are no longer slowly bleeding out from the inside,” she said pointedly, causing Lance to drop his gaze and scratch the back of his head with his hand. The implications of the innocent gesture threatened to send Keith back into a pointless rage, and he clenched his fist tighter. “You really should rest,” Yiva started, before being interrupted by a loud, muffled _boom_ and what felt like a small earthquake.

The princess sighed and continued, “but we are at war, so you must make your own choice.”

Lance hopped up swiftly, pulling his shirt back down over his scar and rolling his shoulders. “That feels much better, thank you Princess,” he said, not looking at Keith. Then he seemed to hesitate for a moment. “If you don’t mind my asking… if healing isn’t your strong suit, what is?”

Riila laughed, like there was a joke there the rest of them weren’t in on. Yiva blushed.

Riila put a hand on the princess’ shoulder placatingly, and explained, “Yiva’s special talent is actually blowing shit up.” The captain laughed harder, and Yiva smiled sheepishly, holding her hands together loosely until a bright orange glass-looking sphere grew into existence between them. She tossed the bomb (because what else would it be) lightly to Lance, who caught it expertly. Keith resumed breathing.

“I try to use it for construction, and cooking…” the princess said, smile wry. “It is not a useless talent, even in peace times. I suppose however it is quite the boon at this particular moment.”

Lance laughed heartily at the irony, his tired face alight with mirth, glowing in the pink light of the palace. Keith’s stomach lurched. He wasn’t sure why, as most of his feelings seemed to be boiling down to “how dare he,” but the ‘what’ of the issue was left unhelpfully absent.

Shiro stepped up, assessing that the dramatics were over, and said decisively, “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Keith nodded, and decided to leave the question for later.

 

_______________________________________

 

 

Keith was just lifting the helmet Ravig had given him, already seated on his speeder, when an unexpected tug on his sleeve stalled him. He’d turned to find Pidge standing there looking mad as a rampaging klanmürl, Lance’s shirtsleeve gripped tightly in her other fist. The other boy looked confused and a little diffident, having obviously been dragged over without knowing why. Keith put his helmet down and turned to give the green paladin his full attention.

“I’m calling in my favor,” she said abrasively, fists clenched taught in the fabric of their sleeves. The look she leveled each of them in turn was like a thousand pound weight, crushing them with invisible force.

Lance gulped. “Okay, shoot.” 

Pidge glared at him specifically a little longer, until Lance started to fidget with nervousness. Finally, she released a huge sigh, all the irascibility in her demeanor leaking out of her like blood from a wound. She looked at the ground between them, voice going soft and serious.

“Don’t die,” she said.

Keith felt his heart climb into his throat, and his mouth fell open. This was… unexpected. What was he supposed to do now? They were literally in the middle of a war, how was he just supposed to promise—

Lance yelled, “PIDGE!” and barrelled into her, crushing her against Keith and the speeder. It took everything he had to keep them upright, and when they were safe he found himself part of the most precarious and forceful group hug he’d ever witnessed, let alone been included in. He felt himself relax almost against his will, as he looked down at a sniffly Pidge and his overly-affectionate fake husband. Lance was rubbing his cheek against Pidge’s, and she looked like she couldn’t decide whether to cry or punch him. Keith figured there was a pretty high chance of both.

“Keith if you don’t actively participate in this I’m going to push you over for real,” Lance said sternly. Keith laughed softly and extracted his arms from the handlebars. Getting them around both Lance and Pidge was somewhat awkward, but once he’d managed it he felt significantly better, resting his chin on the top of her head purely because he knew she would hate it. Pidge sniffed righteously, and Keith laughed again.

The tech wizard started to squirm uncomfortably, and then her little bony elbows were flying everywhere, forcing the two boys apart and making room for her escape. “I’m coming with you to make sure you don’t do anything stupid,” she said, the frown settled on her forehead making Keith’s chest feel tight.

“Sounds fair,” he agreed, and hoped the fondness behind his words wasn’t heavy enough to anger her any further.

Lance met his eyes over her head, and the fondness there was too much.

 

____________________________

 

Once they’d mounted their speeders, Lance had started shouting giddily, running circles around Pidge to annoy her and generally lifting the spirits of the team.

Keith felt like the moment they’d just shared had created some sort of fireball in his gut, simultaneously warming him and burning him alive. Lance laughed, and Keith felt his pulse quicken, the corners of his mouth threatening to pull themselves up into a smile. Then Keith would remember how Lance had almost died several times that day, and the fire would burn too hot, threatening to consume him. He wished for Pidge’s bravery in the face of real human feelings.

_Don’t die._

 

They sped through the hallways of the castle, dodging enemy combatants and rendering assistance wherever they could as they booked it out towards the desert, where the Castle of Lions lay waiting. Divine adrenaline seared through Keith’s veins again, the high of driving something dangerous at incredible speeds doing everything it could to keep him focused. It ultimately failed every time Lance took a corner too fast or somebody started firing back, but it did its best. They finally made it out a huge decorated gate and into the desert, and flew another whole two kilometers before the mortars started.

Keith was pretty sure he’d never flown so fast in his entire life.

Luckily, the Castle of Lions was easy to pick out from a distance, the only gleaming white spaceship-castle around—so their direction wasn’t hard to maintain even dodging giant fireballs falling from the sky. The shadow of the Galra frigate loomed long and imposing over the Tuarikian palace, occasionally spewing destruction from its oversized cannons. So far its unnecessarily large particle cannon had yet to be fired, and Keith hoped on whatever luck they had left that it would remain unused. A regular mortar hit the palace, and Keith wondered to himself where King Higar was—then decided he didn’t care when he was nearly blown to pieces in his distraction.

“Keep your head in the game, mullet!” Lance yelled from off to his right, looking carefree and teasing. Keith knew it was a front, that he’d affected his patented “fun guy” persona to keep everyone calm the second Pidge had broken down. In the moment, Keith was grateful for it. Front or not, Lance was good at keeping them focused, and his taunts were so familiar it was hard for Keith not to cling to his own propensity for competition and latch onto that familiar smile. Lance was joking, the Galra were attacking, and they were all together—just an average day in the life.

“You just try not to crash, cargo pilot,” Keith called back, purposefully rising to the bait. Lance’s completely dramatized scoff filled him with warmth again.

 

Lance, Keith and Pidge had been designated to find the southernmost power supply, and Keith was more than a little relieved when Pidge pointed it out in the distance.

“Alright everybody, low and quick! Split!” Keith called to his teammates, whispering a prayer to anything that nothing went sideways. Lance and Pidge split off without Lance even calling back a smart comment about ‘who died and made him leader’, and Keith’s chest constricted. He shook it off, leaning into a wide turn and leading the ground units following them off the trail of the other two. Hot pink sand scored his face as he ripped across the desert, stray fire causing huge plumes of it to burst into the air on either side of him. 

A Galra soldier on a speeder got in front of him and spun to fly directly into Keith. He couldn’t help the slightly wild grin that crept across his lips as he adjusted course the smallest amount—just enough to fly right by the robot, cleaving it’s head from it’s shoulders with just his knife. Another speeder came barreling at him in the wake of the first, and before he could even blink the robotic soldier was flying sideways, blasted off its vehicle by a laser shot from a half kilometer away. Keith swallowed thickly, feeling awestruck as he nodded to Lance. The blue pilot threw him a cocky grin and turned harshly to distract more ground units. 

With an abrupt boom, the world was thrown into false shadow, and the power cell went up in flames ahead of them.

Pidge flew past faster than Keith had thought she was really capable of moving, shouting something that sounded like _”Hot hot hot holy shit I’m never doing that again,”_ and he really couldn’t help laughing as he about-faced to follow her away from the explosion. Lance shouted behind them, and they turned to see him flying toward them at an even crazier speed, tailing way more soldiers than he could ever deal with. Pidge shouted “Keith!” and threw a length of metal cord at him. Luckily, Keith was pretty quick on the uptake, and they held each end relaxed as Lance soared past them. The second he’d gone, they snapped the cord tight, clotheslining the pursuing soldiers. Keith threw a spare knife at one of the robots they’d missed, and Pidge threw another, smaller explosive behind her at the rest. Lance whooped victoriously, and Keith huffed an exasperated laugh as he and Pidge caught up with him.

Another large explosion erupted in the west, and Lance whooped louder. 

“Hell yeah ladies!” he crowed, and Keith rolled his eyes. That would have been Riila, Yiva, and Allura’s target.

“One left, let’s go!” Keith called, pulling ahead, and his teammates fell in behind him seamlessly as they headed for the last power cell.

The soldiers guarding the barrier had figured them out by now, and they arrived just in time to see Shiro, Coran, and Hunk each being chased off by more soldiers than they could handle. Keith watched with something between wonder and pride as Lance fired a shot into the mess, rescuing Coran from an imminent problem. The elder Altean took the opportunity to wheel his speeder around surprisingly efficiently and booked it towards the power cell. Keith dove into the crowd more recklessly than he probably should have, ramming speeders and severing limbs wherever he could. He managed to bulldoze his way to Shiro, who immediately took his new freedom as opportunity to draw more fire, distracting as many soldiers away from Coran as possible. Pidge got Hunk loose from his tail with an impressive lasso maneuver. Lance immediately followed Shiro’s lead, annoying every soldier he could get close to into chasing him away from Coran.

It didn’t take long before another fiery geyser erupted ahead of them. The gigantic barrier flickered, and finally blinked out.

Sailing smoothly into the castle as a team had never felt so satisfying. Each of the paladins drove as far as they could into their home before sprinting for their hangars; falling into their paladin armor with overwhelming relief. Keith summoned his bayard just to feel its comforting weight, diving into Red like an olympian going for gold. She growled as he landed in the cockpit, and he grinned.

“Yeah yeah, I promise to try not to die out of reach next time,” he placated the giant lion robot fondly. She purred grouchily in response, and they surged out of the castle.

 

Being in Red again made Keith want to laugh.

 

Immediately, the Galran forces seemed insignificant. He and Red laid down a torrent of fire on the units still near to the Castle of Lions, relenting only when they ran into troops that already been flash-frozen by Lance and Blue. Shiro gave the command to form Voltron, and that was it. Together they used Hunk’s heavy artillery to take out remaining ground units. The frigate fired it’s particle cannon, and they easily blocked the blast with Pidge’s shield. Keith formed the sword, and they bisected the warship, each piece falling harmlessly to the desert floor.

 

Within moments, it was over.

 

 

“Hell yeah!” Lance cheered, and Keith felt his exuberance intimately through their mind link. The whole team seemed to be lifted by his effervescence, the delight at having thwarted the bad guys bringing them all up together.

 

And then suddenly, they were on the ground.

 

Lance hissed in pain, and Keith felt his anger flare like a lit match. “Steady!” Shiro commanded firmly, and together they righted the giant robot. The second they’d regained their footing and gotten eyes on what had downed them, the collective mood sunk like a stone in the ocean. There, hovering before them encased in some kind of crystal armor that caught the light of the sun and reflected it like blinding lasers, was Kyana.

_“Did you think you’d won, hero?”_ her voice rang out, magically amplified by the viciously sparkling armor.

“Don’t answer,” Shiro ordered firmly, and Keith ground his teeth. Their leader organized them into fighting stance, and Keith could feel Hunk and Pidge biting back comments of their own with difficulty. He raised the sword and leveled it at the witch.

_“Who does this lady think she is?”_ Lance asked no one. 

Keith’s lips lifted in a morbid smirk. “Doesn’t matter,” he said.

Together they swung with the sword, which was slower than she was. Unfortunately for her they’d assumed as much, and her dodge lined her up perfectly with a gracefully executed roundhouse kick. She flew backwards, yelling horribly, and then Keith froze.

Literally.

“Why can’t we move?” Hunk asked frantically. Pidge grunted like she was trying to move a muscle with all her willpower. 

“She must be using her magic. Nobody panic,” Shiro commanded.

 

Lance was silent.

 

Keith started to panic.

 

_“You will not best me!”_ Kyana shrieked, voice cracking. The knowledge that the crystal armor must be amplifying her magic settled in Keith’s core like ice. The armor replaced her cracked amulet with a nuclear option. If she could freeze _Voltron_ —

The brutally glittering madwoman wound up, one armored hand building a ball of crackling black lightning in her palm.

 

“I am so tired of this shit,” Lance said quietly.

 

Keith felt something creeping over his consciousness that wasn’t panic. It was warm, and familiar, and strong.

 

_No._

 

That was it. Just a solid, certain feeling of _No._

_Not here, not today, not like this._

_Not my friends._

 

It was Lance, because of course it was. It was just Lance, and his unwavering resolve that he would not allow _this._ Keith fell into the feeling like an embrace. One by one, their fellow paladins joined in, until all five of them were thinking and feeling that unshakable _no_ with a single-minded surety.

Kyana fired her lethal black lightning.

Pidge brought up their shield.

The witch barely had time to cry out in confusion before Keith was slicing her down with the sword. She fell like a rock, hitting the ground with a small explosion of crystal shards and sand.

Lance may have pettily stepped on her.

 

_“Paladins—”_ Allura’s voice echoed across their coms. _“I’m receiving reports from Riila inside the castle.”_

The righteously vindictive feeling in Keith’s chest dissipated. 

“No,” Lance whined.

_“And I’m not getting any organic readings from the crystal armor,”_ the princess continued.

_“No,”_ he whined more emphatically.

_“Kyana has the King held hostage in the ballroom. It appears she can teleport. Disassemble and provide ground support.”_

Lance leaned harder on the crystal armor under his lion. The crunch beneath Voltron’s giant metal foot might have been more satisfying than was strictly decent.

 

Keith didn’t call him on it.

 

___________________________________________

 

 

 

Running into the ballroom was like falling asleep into a nightmare you thought you’d shaken off already.

Kyana stood on the raised stage backed by a last bastion of Galra, holding the king paralyzed and hovering a few feet off the ground like a human shield. Riila and a whole cadre of soldiers had them surrounded, but no one could fire with the king in the way. Yiva stood at their forefront, an explosive in each hand and her entire body shaking with fury. Kyana was bleeding torrentially and cursing, though the wounds still seemed to be trying to knit themselves back together. None of this mattered—Lance couldn’t hear the words she screamed anymore. The demon woman had a huge shard of crystal in her free hand. Before anyone could so much as issue an order, Lance had trained his rifle on it and fired.

 

Chaos.

 

The King fell expertly, somersaulting out of the way and leaving the witch exposed. Riila gave the command to fire, and the Galran unit went down. Kyana brought up a shield. A unit of royal guard rushed in to cover the King, and rushed him out of the ballroom. Yiva let loose.

 

When the dust settled, Kyana was prone, her magic broken, body unable to heal anymore. Yiva strode up to her regally, and kneeled beside her as if to offer help.

Instead, she produced a smooth, glowing explosive, and took Kyana’s hands.

“Hold this,” she said, placing the orb between the woman’s battered palms. Kyana held it as if she had no other choice. Lance figured she probably didn’t.

A disgusting sob ripped from the witch.

“Why?” she rasped, tears mixing with blood as they fell down her cheeks. “Why couldn’t it have been me.”

“I’m sure it could have,” Yiva answered calmly, standing as her soldiers moved to surround the traitor. “But instead of standing by those who genuinely believed in you, you chose to sacrifice them to our enemy.” Her eyes seemed to burn holes into the witch. “How could you ever have won, all alone.”

Kyana trembled, an anguished cry ripping out of her as the soldiers pulled her up and carried her away.

“And pro-tip,” Lance felt himself saying to her retreating back, though at this point his mind and body were only connected by the finest of threads, “don’t mess with Voltron.”

 

Lance was pretty sure he fainted after that.

 

________________________________________


	15. Continue Forward my Capricious Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HERE WE GO.

Waking up in the healing pod wasn’t even slightly surprising. Lance drew in a deep, gasping breath as his body thawed, heart beating wildly as if it had been chained down and was now sprinting for freedom. Despite being ‘awake’, he couldn’t find it in him to open his eyes, and as soon as the pod stopped supporting his weight he wobbled dangerously. None of this was particularly concerning to Lance, as he’d been in the healing pod enough times to know the drill. He was actually quite skilled at knowing exactly how to give himself that extra moment to regain his balance, so he didn’t end up falling on his face with that first step out. He tried to contain his wobble to one wall to get his bearings, and immediately he knew he’d messed up. The expected side of the pod wasn’t there, and Lance fell—straight into something solid.

And warm.

And soft.

His brain was still uncomfortably foggy with frost, so he leaned into whatever was holding him up and closed his eyes. He buried his nose into a soft, good-smelling nook that seemed to exist at the perfect height for exactly that purpose. The solid thing wrapped what had to be arms around him, and they rubbed soothing circles into his back.

“Feeling better?” The solid thing asked, voice dripping with fondness and smirk.

Lance shivered, a swath of goosebumps painting his skin where the words had ghosted over it. He hummed affirmatively, burying his face deeper into its hiding place. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever felt better than this.

This was good.

Lance was perfectly content to stand here and feel like _this_ for the rest of eternity.

“Alright come on stop snuggling your boyfriend and share.” 

Sharp fingers prodded themselves between Lance and the solid thing, pushing them apart, and he finally shook off the last of the sleepiness weighing him down.

The solid thing— _Keith_ —stepped back, blushing furiously, and Lance registered Pidge’s bony arms hooking around his torso. Hunk stood just behind her, bouncing on his heels as he waited for his own turn in the hug lineup. Lance laughed as his big friend lost the war with his patience and just picked Lance and Pidge up together. Pidge made over-exaggerated choking noises, trying to escape the hold, and Lance laughed so hard he felt tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes. Shiro and Allura each picked an arm to pat affectionately, and Coran applauded from nearby. 

This was right. Everyone here, everything in its place.

He felt like he’d woken up from some kind of horrible dream.

“Welcome back son!” Coran enthused, patting Lance on the back bracingly once he’d reached the small group. Lance coughed with the force of it, but couldn’t help his smile.

“How are you feeling?” The mustachioed man asked more seriously, gently encouraging hunk with a hand to set everybody down.

Lance took stock.

Thinking back to what had happened before waking up in the cryo-pod felt like trying to remember the details of somebody else’s nightmare. Everything was kind of half-imagined, and he couldn’t seem to keep a handle on the timeline. All he really remembered was that at one point, there had been a hole in him. Keith had made some sort of comment about being able to see through him, so it must have been a big one. A fuzzy memory of being in Voltron and taking a hit swam up from the depths of his memory—he must have torn something again then. He did a couple twists and stretches now, pleased when nothing bothered him besides a harmless itch where the skin had healed over. 

“All in one piece,” Lance grinned reassuringly, deciding that now, surrounded by his still concerned-looking friends, was not the time to try and dredge up any more of the details.

“Perfect, all of you go get dressed. The Tuarikians have waited long enough!” Coran instructed, shooing everyone out of the medbay. 

“Waited for what?” Lance asked as his friends pulled him along down the corridors to their room block.

“The king wants to give us medals or something. ‘Specially you—you explicitly saved not just the princess but also the king personally. I’m not sure you’re getting off this planet without a parade in your honor,” Pidge explained as they hurried down the hall.

A small firework of excitement burst in Lance’s chest at that, but it was quickly extinguished by a wave of pure exhaustion. Allura was going into detail about the final celebrations and the honors they were intending to award each of them, but Lance’s memory was busy filling in the gaps it was missing with a disturbing speed. He remembered explicitly the feeling of terror as he sniped Yiva’s captor, and the dead feeling he’d sunken into by the time he’d shot the crystal out of Kyana’s hand. He felt bile start to rise in the back of his throat.

Keith, who had been trailing along a short distance away, seemed to notice. He put a comforting hand on Lance’s upper arm, but refused to make eye contact.

Lance smiled to himself anyway.

________________________________

 

In the end, there _was_ a parade.

 

All of team Voltron were awarded medals of honor, and each of them were individually presented with a gift from Ravig as a special thank-you. Lance was given an extra medal, and a thin, sparkling circlet with a blue stone in the middle of it. He’d been too tired to listen to what exactly it represented, but it was something about special service to the Crown. Lance thought he may have been honorarily adopted as part of the proceedings as well, and decided that that was alright. In any case, it seemed that was enough to settle the alliance for good, and there were certainly worse things in the universe than more family members.

When Yiva came up and hugged him, kissing him fondly on the temple to welcome him into the family, he might have cried a bit.

 

Just a little.

 

___________________________________

 

 

There was one more ball.

 

 

___________________________________

 

 

Lance looked in the mirror and pulled at his suit self-consciously. Something about his reflection looked wrong, still. Maybe it was the persistent bags under his eyes—he’d have to do a face mask the second they were back on the ship. Maybe it was the circlet that Allura had insisted he keep wearing, though he doubted it. Ravig had made it, so it was obviously perfectly suited to him. Maybe it was just that he didn’t match the new room at all. The room he and Keith had been staying in had been an unfortunate victim of collateral damage during the fight, and they’d been upgraded to an even more ridiculous suite. The furniture was so extravagant he couldn’t even imagine sitting on it; even standing too close seemed reckless. This room was for actual royalty, and it was most certainly not the sort of accommodation Lance deserved. While he’d been too nervous to so much as touch most of the pieces in the room, he had sat on the edge of the ridiculously enormous bed to pull on his boots, and it was so comfortable he almost just laid down and gave up right there.

He wasn’t gonna do that, though.

 

_One more night._

 

As the day had dragged on, more and more of the events of the past week came back to him until he remembered all of it in excruciating detail—until all he could do was stare at the back of Keith’s head and wring his hands together.

He’d told the idiotic, hot-headed pilot that he _loved_ him.

 

And Keith hadn’t said it back.

 

Logically, Lance knew he was being ridiculous. That just because Keith hadn’t returned an ‘I love you’ in the middle of a frigging _battle_ didn’t mean he didn’t _like_ him—didn’t mean he couldn’t _eventually_ love him, even. They’d only even had two honest kisses between them. Lance thinking he loved Keith probably wasn’t even true—just the result of trauma and adrenaline. That would make sense. Just prolonged proximity and loneliness.

 

Lance laughed cynically.

 

_Yeah, right._

 

“You ready?” Keith asked awkwardly, coming out of the bathroom. He looked a mess—jacket buckles mismatched, shirt-tails escaping from their place tucked into his pants, pony-tail only managing to contain one half of his wavy hair. He did, at the very least, have both of his boots on.

Lance felt his heart melt.

His breath escaped in a weak puff as he teased, “more than you are,” and moved to fix what could be fixed on Keith’s hopeless outfit. Keith pouted, but suffered the treatment in silence. Once Lance had gotten the other pilot’s clothes in order, he moved a hand up to Keith’s hair, and stopped. They were facing each other, standing closer than was probably strictly necessary. Lance had his fingers in Keith’s hair, delicately extracting the tie Keith had obviously given up on halfway through putting it in. Keith was very determinedly looking anywhere but at Lance, but his chin was jutting out with a sullen cast, his lips only inches away.

 

Lance could kiss him, just like this.

 

He could curl his fingers in that hair that had been driving him crazy for _years_ , tilt that surly mouth his way, and capture those unfairly soft lips with his own before either of them could— 

He shook his head slightly, feeling the strain on the casual smile he’d been maintaining so carefully, and finished removing the hair-tie. He stepped back ever so slightly to put a little distance between them, and cleared his throat. “You should leave it down, tonight,” he said, feeling oddly weak.

Keith raised an eyebrow. “You hate my hair down,” he said suspiciously.

Lance blushed, and turned away. “I hate your whole stupid face, wearing your hair down isn’t gonna make it any worse,” he grouched with all the strength of a punctured balloon.

Keith snorted, and took Lance’s arm. Lance immediately felt like somebody had coated his limb in icyhot, that uncomfortable combination of soothing warmth and crackling nerves causing him to shiver. He really needed to get a handle on all these autonomous bodily functions. If he ever tried to play high-stakes poker he’d be broke in an instant.

Trying to be as subtle as possible, he peered down at Keith’s face, inspecting it for anything suspicious. Or, anything at all really. He tried to remind himself again, that just because Keith hadn’t said he _loved_ him didn’t mean everything had to be... over.

 

Keith coughed, and said, “let’s go get this over with.”

 

Lance smiled ruefully, and did not wonder why it was called ‘heartbreak’. 

 

_________________________________

 

Lance entertained their table as they ate. The thought of food right then was… difficult, and no one noticed him failing to put bites in his mouth when he was busy telling jokes. He’d been seated directly next to King Higar, who laughed so loud at Lance’s stories he worried the monarch might choke. At one point, after a particularly hilarious tale about him and Keith and how they’d managed to save a race of tiny mouse-shaped aliens despite their constant bickering one time, the king went quiet. Lance looked up nervously at his silence, worried he’d said something wrong. Worried his... _feelings_ might be leaking out.

The king was just smiling warmly, looking slightly down the table to where Yiva and Riila were talking animatedly to Shiro and Allura.

“I am going to grant the Captain’s request for my daughter’s hand,” Higar said quietly, only for Lance to hear. Lance’s skin prickled with excitement, and he also turned to look at the couple, smiling fondly at the sight of their intertwined hands, hidden poorly under the table.

“Yiva is the smartest woman I have ever met. If she thinks this is what is best for her, then who am I to argue?” The king continued, still quiet. “I had hoped for a grand marriage for her before, to solidify her standing in the eyes of our people. I had known for quite some time that the Garuns in particular were… discontent. I thought a wedding would solve everything.”

He turned to level Lance with a meaningful look, and Lance felt his throat go dry.

“I was wrong. I see you and your husband together, and it does not matter that you have united without advantage. You are a good team, and you will undoubtedly liberate the universe.” Lance looked at Keith out of the corner of his eye, and tried not to grimace. “They are also a good team,” Higar chuckled to himself, gesturing back to the princess and her captain. “The people know without a doubt that Yiva is for them, now. She’s been running herself ragged all day, assisting with cleanup and reassuring citizens personally. She never needed my help, or anyone else’s. All she needed was an opportunity.” The king placed a large, strong hand on Lance’s comparatively tiny shoulder. “Thank you for keeping her safe long enough to take it.”

“Anytime,” Lance replied, choking on the word as it crawled out of his throat. Higar smiled at him for another moment, pat his shoulder one more time, and then stood.

“Well, I believe it is time to begin the dancing,” he excused himself good naturedly, and left to make the announcement.

 

Lance sat still, staring at his hands and trying not to breakdown right there at the dinner table.

 

A hand that wasn’t his own—but was quickly becoming just as familiar—rested itself on top of his.

 

Lance looked up into Keith’s smiling face, and felt like dying.

 

“May I have this dance?” The dark-haired pilot asked quietly. Lance nodded, scooting his chair out clumsily and nearly falling into Keith’s steady arms. Keith didn’t laugh at him, just smiled a little deeper, and Lance thought for a minute that he looked sad, which was nonsense.

They made it out to the dancefloor without incident, and sans even a minor stutter, fell into step.

Lance wanted to treasure it, as they twirled across the dancefloor expertly now. He wanted to hold Keith to him shamelessly and bury his face in his long dark hair, wanted to breathe in his comforting scent of soap and metal and boy. He wanted to stare at the now waning moon and spin with this beautiful disaster in his arms until the world ended.

He made it about four minutes before his unfortunate mouth had other ideas.

“Guess this is it, huh?” He coughed, trying to keep his voice light. “Last night having to pretend you’re hopelessly in love with me.” He’d been going for lighthearted and funny, but he’d missed the mark by a mile at least. He made a firm mental note to never, ever start gambling.

Keith’s hold on his waist tightened for an instant, and Lance’s breath caught. A silent moment passed between them as Keith seemed to think of something to say, and in the end, all he managed was a quiet, “yep.”

Lance twirled him expertly, and the dance ended.

“I’m tired,” he said honestly, releasing Keith’s hands reluctantly. The shorter pilot smiled, and this time it was definitely a little sad.

“Okay.”

“Will you—” Lance swallowed thickly, frantic to make this—whatever it was—last as long as it possibly could, before the black hole quickly forming in his chest consumed him entirely. “Will you come with me?” he managed. Keith looked up, eyes wide with surprise. They scanned Lance’s face, looking for some sort of answer, not that Lance could guess which. A soft breeze was wafting in from the open garden, still smelling deliciously of fruit and flowers even through the dust and debris that permeated the palace now. It teased Keith’s wild hair softly, the moonlight leaving him glowing and backlit. 

He was beautiful.

 

It was devastating.

 

“I don’t, uh…” Lance swallowed again, uncomfortably aware of the drag of his own adam’s apple in his throat as Keith kept staring at him silently. Those ridiculous indigo eyes were still searching. Lance could stand there staring into them infinitely. “...I don’t really wanna be alone,” he finished at length, praying his desperation wasn’t clear on his face.

Keith’s perfect brows pulled together for a fraction of a second. Then his face settled into something closed and unreadable. He nodded and said, “of course,” like the answer should have been obvious. 

Lance made a mental note to encourage Keith to start gambling.

He wasn’t sure which one of them reached to twine their hands together, but he was sure his palm was sweaty as they walked down intermittently beautiful and ruined hallways to their room. Lance didn’t pay them any attention, even when he almost tripped over a stray piece of rubble. The moon was relentless, sparkling off Keith’s skin like it shone just for him. He probably should have been worried that Keith would be irritated with all his staring, but he couldn’t. If he was going to be forced to give this up, and pretend that nothing had ever happened between them… well.

He was going to at least sear this sight into his mind for the rest of his life.

 

_______________________________

 

Keith was pretty sure his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. 

Lance had been staring at him for the entire walk back to the room, like a man about to walk the plank sucking in his last breath of air. This wasn’t what Keith had expected at all—everything since the moment they’d separated by the healing pods seemed to point towards Lance gearing up to end this. But Lance had told him he _loved_ him…

Had that been a lie?

Maybe it was. Maybe Lance had been scared, and lonely, and Keith had been there—

Maybe Lance regretted it.

Keith’s grip on the taller boy’s hand tightened as they reached their door. He wondered if Lance even registered the fact that the designs on the outside of this one were purple, if he’d picked up on the true consequences of his actions during the last battle. He was willing to bet money that the meaning of their painfully fancy digs had floated right over the blue pilot’s head.

 

Lance was still staring.

 

Keith sighed.

So what if Lance wasn’t actually in love with him. There was something here. He wasn’t going to let go of it that easily.

Straightening his back and raising his chin high, he let go of Lance’s hand and walked through that heavy door into the room.

“It’s too bad,” he said, with as much of a smirk as he could manage. “This is the last night I can run around bragging to everyone that I’m married to a prince.”

He walked out onto their balcony, leaning on their banister and trying to look inviting. Lance followed him slowly, looking both star-struck and bewildered.

“I don’t get it,” he responded, brows twisted up in confusion.

Keith laughed, “Don’t you, your highness?” 

Lance landed on the banister next to him, face contorted into frown of deep consideration while his eyes stayed glued to Keith’s face. Keith decided to save him the aneurysm. 

“Lance, you were adopted. By the royal family.”

Lance’s eyes widened comically, and Keith couldn’t help laughing as he watched his meaning crash into the actual, literal prince like a tidal wave.

“Holy shit!” He nearly shouted, eyes finally breaking from Keith to stare out at the palace. “I was, wasn’t I,” he said to himself, voice full of wonder, one hand lifting delicately to touch his new circlet like he finally understood what it was for. Keith took the hand in his own as it dropped back down on impulse. He may have grinned. There was a possibility that it was sappy.

Another moment passed, and he watched as Lance’s forehead scrunched down like he was doing a particularly difficult word problem. And then the corner of his mouth curled up into a grin, and he laid eyes back on Keith. 

He may have shivered.

_"Well,”_ Lance leaned in closer, and Keith unconsciously held his breath. “I guess that means tonight’s the last night I can run around bragging that I’m married to a prince, too.” Lance turned fully to face him, and the dark-haired pilot was fairly certain his heart stopped when Lance brought his hand up to tug on one of his jacket buckles playfully. “At least one of us looks the part.”

Keith thought he was probably turning blue at this point, but he honestly could not remember how breathing worked. Lance had looked so tense, just moments ago, and now suddenly everything was upside down. Why would Lance start _flirting_ if he was going to—

_Oh, fuck it._

Keith knocked his shoulders back, straightening up and filling his chest with all the confidence he could summon. Lance had tried to _die_ for him. So what if he’d been acting weird today. He cocked his head to the side coyly, and let his fingers climb Lance’s torso to tangle with the taller man’s jacket fasteners.

“Come on,” he gasped, finally tricking his lungs into working, “When the wicked witch asks that magic mirror who the fairest in the land is, we all know it points to you.”

Keith forced himself to make eye contact—holding on to those ocean blues with everything he had—and he was fairly sure it was Lance who’d stopped breathing, this time. Keith didn’t worry about it, instead letting his hands finish their mission. He watched his fingers like they belonged to somebody else as they began unbuckling Lance’s formal jacket. Lance didn’t protest, or even move. Keith finished with the buckles quickly, their function explicitly clear when he wasn’t looking at them in a mirror. Once he had the jacket open, his hands ran up Lance’s toned chest, pushing the offending fabric off and out of the way.

That was better.

Finally, now, here, like this, Lance was a puzzle Keith _could_ solve with his hands.

Lance inhaled sharply as Keith stepped closer, making the shorter pilot smirk. His arms were still draped over Lance’s broad shoulders from pushing off the jacket, and he smoothly moved them to card his fingers Lance’s hair. They were so close now they were breathing the same air, and Keith couldn’t help dipping his gaze to catch on Lance’s lips when the taller pilot licked them nervously. Lance felt hot as a star in his arms, and Keith brought his eyes back up to meet those ocean blues with a distinct satisfaction. 

“Lance,” Keith whispered, smirk widening. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Lance looked like his soul had left his body, and with a voice nearly shaking with disbelief said, “—but there’s no one here.”

Keith’s smirk melted into an adoring smile he couldn’t control if he wanted to. “Who needs anybody else…” he started, one hand moving to cup Lance’s cheek, “...when out here I’ve got you?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

________________________________________________

 

Lance put the finishing touches on the breakfast he’d made using the new replicator with great satisfaction.

Belgian waffles with chocolate syrup, powdered sugar, and raspberry compote, because why even _have_ a replicator if you aren’t going to use it _right_. With a flair built from sheer luck, he picked up the two plates he’d put together, spun them in his hands, and laid them down at the dining table.

Pidge walked in as he was laying the plates down, and scrunched her nose up in distaste.

“If you’re going to do that every day you could at _least_ make breakfast for _everybody_ ,” she sneered. Lance stuck his tongue out, a self-satisfied grin seated comfortably on his lips.

“Don’t worry Pidge, I made you peanut butter waffles,” Hunk assured the short ball of sleep-deprivation from his place at the stove-top. Pidge pretended to swoon, clutching her heart.

“Now that’s a _real_ friend,” she derided moodily.

Lance was about to retort when Shiro and Keith wandered into the kitchen, fresh from their morning training routines. His comeback died on his lips, replaced with what he knew was a disgustingly enamored smile as he took in Keith’s mussed hair, and the blush as the red paladin realized Lance had made breakfast just for the two of them again.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Keith reminded him, cheeks a perfect rose.

“If he had to you could practically guarantee he would never do it,” Hunk teased from the stove.

“Hey!” Lance objected, sparing only a quick glare for his best friend.

“I think it’s cute,” Shiro smiled genuinely, settling down at the head of the table.

“Thanks dad,” Lance grinned without missing a beat. Shiro just shook his head and chuckled to himself. 

Keith couldn’t seem to resist laughing himself as he sat down in his designated spot next to Lance. 

Allura waltzed in, followed by Coran, the two of them making over-exaggerated ‘mmmm’ sounds and throwing heart eyes at Hunk as they smelled the waffles he was plating.

“Lance, a gift came for you from Princess Yiva,” Coran said, handing a capsule to him with a wink.

Lance felt his insides warm up as he took it. Inside the fancy (of course it was fancy) container was a carefully wrapped quantity of cyarin tea and rock sugar, and a note. It read:

_“Dear Lance,_

_Tomorrow is the ‘big day’! I am so excited I don’t know what to do with myself. My friends will not let me lift a hand to help with preparations anymore, and so I find myself sending you presents to keep busy. I hope you like the tea, and I hope even more it finds you and Keith well._

_Until next time I suppose!_

_-Yiva”_

Lance knew his sappy smile was gross, but he didn’t care. He put the package aside, and tried to subtly take Keith’s hand. He smiled lopsidedly as Lance twined their fingers together, but didn’t complain, digging into his waffles one-handed. Pidge’s eyes narrowed from across the table.

“Are you still wearing those rings?” she accused. “Your fingers are gonna fall off if you punch wrong one day, you know.”

Keith flushed furiously, eyes locked on Lance’s falsely red-hot ring. Lance just smiled. “Your lies can’t hurt us Pidge,” he said in a sing-song.

“Leave them alone, Pidge,” Shiro scolded kindly. “Would you rather they went back to kicking each other under the table?”

Lance scoffed with his best offended face. Pidge just snorted.

“Maybe,” she teased. Lance just huffed, and turned his attention back to Keith.

“How do they taste?” He asked, preening. Keith laughed, shoving Lance over with a shoulder. He cut himself a painstaking bite one handed, and made a big show of taking a bite, mulling over the flavor as he chewed. Lance leaned closer, chin in hand as he comically waited for Keith’s verdict.

Keith laughed, and blushed, and Lance’s heart did cartwheels.

“Tastes like home,” he coughed, cheeks a brilliant scarlet now.

Exactly three seconds of stunned silence occurred as the entire table registered Keith’s comment, and then everyone broke as one. Pidge groaned. Shiro and Hunk chuckled. Coran and Allura ‘aww’ed. 

Lance just grinned, his heart so big it threatened to escape his chest. He leaned over, placing a chaste kiss on Keith’s raspberry-flavored lips, and whispered, “you, too.”

Keith’s face exploded in red.

 

Lance grinned.

 

Keith stood abruptly, keeping his grip on Lance’s hand and forcing the taller boy to follow him as he stalked purposefully out of the kitchen and back into the hall. A chorus of ‘OOOOOOH’s followed them, but Keith soldiered on admirably. As soon as they’d made it through the automatic doors, Keith turned, pinning Lance to the wall, and then it was his turn to blush.

“You’re the _worst_ ,” Keith sighed defeatedly, still smiling through his discomfort.

Lance grinned. “Yeah, but at least I love you,” he said easily, the truth pouring out of him like breath.

Keith’s face twisted, but it was a good sort of struggle. The shorter boy dragged his eyes back up to Lance’s, and their shine was suspiciously wobbly.

 

“I love you too,” he said, the words sticking in his throat.

 

Lance thought his grin might actually break his face in half. Keith punched him lightly, the two of them dissolving into disgustingly fond laughter until finally they were ready to head back in to the kitchen. Pidge and Hunk ‘Oooooh’d again. Lance stuck his tongue out as they took their seats back at the table.

 

This was good.

 

This was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it. We made it to the end. It took over a year, but we did it together friends. Thank you all for sticking with me, especially those of you who started reading this at chapter one oh so long ago. You've all made my fandom experience incredible, and I can't wait to write more garbage for you all to enjoy. <3 <3 <3


End file.
